The Passion Serpent
by RosaluvsMystery
Summary: The dark wings of a new evil are being deployed ahead, reputedly more frightful, much more ancient and power-hungry than the Dark Lord. Expect tales of forbidden love, intoxicating passion, mystery and adventurous quests. A Draco & Hermione love story...
1. Prologue: A Secret Glimpse

**Story Notes:**_ In this fan fiction, most of the events that took place in the Harry potter series would remain unchanged and this is, in fact, quite important for the way this story will take shape; except of course, the epilogue, as written in the book, would not have occurred. That is, for our purpose, the HP series will be ending without the epilogue...There'll be some things that I'll be adding here and there. In fact, all you have to do is bear what happens in the Harry Potter series in mind. Also, I simply love the idea of the Draco-Hermione pairing. I think that if ever romance was given a chance to evolve between Draco & Hermione, their love would have been of the explosive and passionate kind - instead of the quiet and friendly pairing of Ron and Hermione that has been done in the books. I believe that Draco's and Hermione's love can create thrilling sparks! They are both witty and intelligent, and they hate each other! However, if that pairing was a given a chance in the series, the story would probably have strayed and would not have focused on Harry Potter. Read this fan fiction if you want to know whether, ignoring the epilogue in HP7, Hermione will indeed end up with Ron or with Draco. Even though I loved the Harry Potter series, I also tend to focus a lot on characters and wonder what is going on in their minds. Draco had me wondering much of what kind of a person he truly is. He intrigues me. I like to think there is way more to him than what we get to know in the books. In my opinion, we never learn who he is in the books and, therefore, I'll be adding Draco's take on things - how he views events, what he feels, and how he changes during those seven years at Hogwarts and in the final battle against Voldemort. You'll learn about his secret thoughts, his person, and his passions; witness how he ends up losing himself completely…After all, don't they say…lose yourself first; once you've been drowned in the darkest depth of despair and resurfaced, you'll find the real you. After that is done, our Real Story, set in the post–Hogwarts era, will start ;o)_

**Chapter Notes:** _This prologue is a scene from "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban". This scene is not included in the books but for the sake of this fan fiction, you'll be allowed a secret glimpse into what happened between Draco & Hermione in one particular scene. If you go back and read this part in the book, you'll see that this scene does fit. Of course it will, since it has occurred for real; only J. K. Rowling omitted from mentioning it … ;) ;) ;)_

_ Thank you J. K. Rowling for having already imagined such an amazing magical world...all I'm doing now is some embroidery work ;)..._

**Prologue**

**A secret glimpse into a past**  
**Shared by two young souls**  
**Forgotten by one**  
**Remembered by the other**  
**A secret glimpse into the birth**  
**Of a love impossible, forbidden**  
**Forgotten by one**  
**Agony for the other**  
**A secret glimpse into passions**  
**That arose like a phoenix from ashes**  
**Forgotten by one**  
**Burning alive the other…**

Malfoy strutted off at an angry pace away from Hogwarts castle's doors. A strange, cloud filled obscurity seemed to envelope him. He was fuming, and you could almost feel the air freeze as the cold, thunderous rage inside of him diffused into the area immediately around him. All the other students who were casually strolling down the corridors in between classes, whether they were younger or older wizards, parted in a sea of dark robes for the blond-haired boy with fire raging in his eyes to pass.

Professor Flitwick, who was on his way to his Charms class, blended with the smaller first years as all of them wondered what had caused Draco Malfoy to change from a usually cool-headed, arrogant and detached bully into a seething cauldron of frosty ire. Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost who was gliding alongside the students, stopped just in time to avoid Draco passing through him.

"I urgently need a mantle for protection against this strange, unholy hoarfrost in the air!" Nearly Headless Nick muttered, shuddering.

For the first time since he had been at Hogwarts, Malfoy felt humiliating tears smarting at the back of his eyes. Crabbe and Goyle were having a most difficult time keeping up with his frenzied pace! Crabbe cleared his portly voice that seemed to have turned into a tiny squeak, intimidated by the queer, intensely negative, not to mention, slightly scary vibes emanating from the tall, blond Slytherin with the intense silver grey eyes tinged with azure, and called:

"Malfoy, Malfoy, wait for us! Why are you walking so fast anyway? Wait!" Malfoy ignored them and kept on walking ahead, feeling his insides boil with a maddening rage.

"Is it because Mudblood Grang-" Goyle started asking, but was instantly cut off by a very incensed Malfoy.

"Clamp those oversized hippopotamus mouths shut! I don't want to hear a word! Get the hell out of my sight, both of you! Now!" Malfoy shouted back at them without turning, and his dark green Slytherin robes slashed through the air as he disappeared around a corner. Stunned, but partly relieved that they could escape Draco's company when he was in such foul mood, Crabbe and Goyle retraced their steps and headed towards the Great Hall in order to have a second go at the Meringue Ghosts and Pumpkin breads they had relished so much at lunch, an hour ago.

Meanwhile, Draco's footsteps could be heard resounding on the wide spiral staircase that led to the Slytherin common room found in the dungeon. The stone walls were lit with bright burning torches that had a distinctly emerald glow. Peeves, the mischievous and unruly poltergeist, could be heard cackling further down; no doubt busy bothering the younger Slytherins.

Suddenly, an idea struck Malfoy, and as he stopped abruptly to consider his options, his heart studded so fast it nearly propelled him forward. The greenish glow from the torch reflected in his lovely silver-grey eyes and made him appear devilishly scary. His harsh, jagged breaths came out at an increasingly brisk pace, and he at once swung around, running back through the corridor, his hungry eyes scouring the sea of frightened faces for one particular person.

Granger. Where the hell was that Mudblood? She should be in her Charms class, thought Draco. Back there, she had succeeded in stunning him with that harsh slap across the face. And he had walked away, anger consuming him so completely that he did not trust himself not to combust in flames right there in front of them. Now that he had somewhat cooled down and cleared his muddled mind, he was determined not to let Granger walk free. She would pay and end up begging for mercy. He would drag her out of class and teach her a good lesson even if he had to curse everyone in there in order to be able to do so.

As Draco raced towards Professor Flitwick's class, he caught a bushy head of a hair in the corner of his eye. That had to be Granger! She was not in class and was quickly scurrying away from Potty and Weasel who were not paying any attention to her. Clearly they were still on cloud nine after having witnessed him, Draco, being slapped by a most despicable Mudblood!

Granger, for some obscure reason, seemed to be in quite a hurry and was heading towards the Gryffindor common room. Draco was lucky, for no one else was in sight.

"Not so fast, Mudblood!" called Draco at the top of his voice as he raced towards her and saw Hermione turning around, taken aback but her hand already moving to her wand.

"Silencio! Immobulus!" cried Draco in quick succession as he cast the spells that at once silenced Hermione and caused her to immediately freeze on the moving staircase, respectively. Draco ran to where Hermione stood staring at him with apprehensive eyes, but unable to say anything or to make the tiniest of movement. The figures in the paintings on the wall had all rushed to one particular painting. It was one in which a romantic couple had been dining by candlelight, but were now struggling not be squeezed out of their picture. They all stood transfixed at what was happening in front of them.

Draco snatched the strange-looking pocket watch Hermione held in her hands, and at once identified the quaint object to be a Time-Turner. A devilish glint came into his eyes as he thought of the place he would like to land back in time and turned the clock half an hour back, grabbing the arm of inert Hermione with him.

They landed right away in one of the highest, abandoned tower of Hogwarts castle. Its ceiling was very high and tapered up in a spire. Large, arched windows surrounded the tower, and the lofty trees of the Forbidden Forest seemed very near, gently swaying in the wind. Mountain ranges, draped in misty clouds, could be seen far away at the horizon.

Draco snatched Hermione's wand and stowed it safely away inside one of the pockets of his robe, and at the same time pointed his own wand at the floor, whispering spells that cleared the broken marble floor of debris so that he could walk unimpeded. Even if it was broad daylight, the inside of the tower was quite dark. Candles, both new and used, as well as books, were strewn haphazardly around the place. Malfoy muttered spells that lit the candles, instantly lending a warm glow to the tower, and said the counter-curses that freed Hermione from the two hexes she was under the spell of.

"What do you think you are doing, you imbecile?" shrieked Hermione at once, moving towards Draco but stopped short seeing how incensed he looked.

"Shut your filthy mouth!" Draco shot back, advancing dangerously towards Hermione, who was instinctively taking some steps back away from him.

"Who the hell do you think you are, you repugnant, ugly Granger? How dare you slap me in front of Potty and Weasel? How dare you raise your bloody, dirty hands to Draco Malfoy? You hideous banshee!" Malfoy asked, his temper rising ever higher, as did the pitch of his voice.

"Malfoy, calm down! You deserved that slap down there! You kept getting on our nerves with your provocations, and this time it was one drop too much when you called Hagrid-"

"I asked you to shut that dirty mouth of yours, Mudblood! Notwithstanding the fact that it stinks, it disgusts me to be in your presence. It disgusts me to be here up with you, but you need to be taught a lesson you will never forget! You would not dare come anywhere near me afterwards!" Malfoy bit back at her and pushed her harshly against the crumbling stone wall; effectively trapping her between the wall and his body.

"So, Granger, tell me," hissed Malfoy quietly, "did it make you feel good? Did you actually relish the way you expressed your relief at how Weasel and Potty were back to talking to you again?"

"What, what do you mean?" asked Hermione, puzzled at his odd question.

"Don't try to play more dumb than you are already are, Mudblood!" Malfoy warned angrily.

Hermione cringed at the appellation. "I don't know what you are getting at, Malfoy! Leave me – let me go!" She tried wriggling away from Malfoy but his hands reached out at her elbows, clasping them firmly.

"What I mean is that your slap was not your actual anger at me, Granger! I might have called Hagrid 'pathetic', but that isn't what caused you to get physical with me." He paused before continuing in a quieter, more ominous tone. "You had been upset, Granger, long before I said anything. Yes, you've been distressed since your cat, Crookshanks, isn't it, apparently ate Weasel's rat Scabbers!"

Hermione stilled at his astute observation and looked up at his eyes. It was a mistake, for their surreal intensity quite mesmerized her.

"What are- are you getting at Malfoy you- You-" Hermione tried to find words, but for the first time, they were failing her.

"Can't find your way?" asked Malfoy, a sneer dancing at the corner of his mouth. "I'll tell you. The sudden bout of anger you showed down there was because of your relief more than anything else. Do you think I didn't notice your frequent visits to Hagrid's cottage these last days? Did you not cry your heart out with that big oaf, as your only friend? Did I not see you crying whenever you thought you were alone?"

"But I- But- I-"

"Reduced to a stammering fool, Granger? It hardly surprises me. Yes, you were very upset because you felt guilty that your cat hurt ratty Weasel's rat! And when Potty and Ratty were no longer talking to you, it quite tormented you… Didn't it? So today, one word you hear from me and you fly in a rage, hitting me in front of your friends! Did you think it made me feel good? I once thought that you had the ability to think, Granger. I was wrong," continued Malfoy. Hermione could not find anything with which to refute him.

"When you hit me, you did so with the confidence of having your two best friends by your side. You did so because you were relieved they were talking to you again. You did so out of allegiance to them; to show where your loyalty lied. That physical blow was a way for you to leave behind the tension and angst that had gripped you the past days." Malfoy paused. Hermione's heart was beating so hard in her throat. Malfoy was getting scarier with every passing second.

"Take it out on Malfoy, the inner you whispered. Slap the worthless git in front of dear Harry and Ron. They would see how I am on their side! They would see how I too despise Malfoy. They would always admire me after this," Malfoy continued ruthlessly.

"Isn't that what passed in the brainless head of yours, Granger? You loved finally letting go of your frustrations by using me! Didn't you?" he asked in a deceivingly soft way, and did not let Hermione answer as he continued. "WELL, I HATED IT YOU FILTHY SLIME! I AM NOT ONE TO BE MESSED WITH! I AM NOT ONE WHO WOULD ACCEPT TO BE THE SCAPEGOAT ON WHOM MISS MUDBLOOD, STUPID GRANGER WILL LET GO OF HER FRUSTRATIONS ON, GET THAT?" Malfoy shouted hotly, letting anger and hurt consume him utterly. His eyes were flashing with fire, and it was not surprising how Hermione felt as if she was being scorched by the blaze.

Hermione was on the brink of bawling her eyes out, but courageously blinked back the tears.

"No, no, Malfoy I didn't, I didn't, you, it was-" she stammered, at a total loss for words. Strange, distressing emotions were further scorching her inside. She could recognize some truth in Malfoy's words, and she could not begin to fathom how he could be so young and be so very perceptive. Maybe it was that keen perceptiveness that allowed him to identify other's weaknesses and exploit them. Wouldn't that also mean that if you could pinpoint other's weak points, that you were also very likely to hide your own? What was his?

"Malfoy, what …what are...are you trying to do? If this is re…revenge-" stammered a bewildered Hermione, but Malfoy cut her again in mid-sentence by advancing so near to her that she felt the wall piercing into her back as she cowered as far into it as she could. He stared at her with his tempestuous eyes. There were so dark and clouded, Hermione felt a chill run down her spine, and felt as if nothing she said would get across to him. But still, she tried.

"Malfoy, stop! You'll regret this!" screamed Hermione as Malfoy grabbed her waist with one hand and slammed her small, soft body into the harder wall of his. Hermione had never been that close to a boy. She had never before even thought of how firm a boy's body could be, compared to her own. But now, those differences were fast slipping into her consciousness. Malfoy kept looking down into her big, brown, frightened eyes. His free hand pointed his wand at a particularly large brick that had fallen off the wall and transfigured the latter into white floor cushions. He must have practiced transfiguring bricks into cushions quite often to have done that with so much ease, Hermione registered dimly. What for, she found her addled mind wondering.

"Now that's funny, do you think I'm going to kiss your filthy lips, Mudblood?" scoffed Malfoy, his lips curling with disdain. "Scared, aren't you? I can feel your heartbeat racing like a mad train…" he drawled, and pressed himself even closer to her. Hermione's eyes widened with surprise.

"Malfoy, let-let me go-" Hermione started saying, trying to unlock her jaws that still felt like it was under the Silencio spell, but was unable to finish her sentence as Malfoy brought his mouth crashing down onto hers. At first she was too dazed to react as he practiced a most artful dance on her lips that made her feel as if she was hovering a few inches above the ground. The kiss was not awkward as the first kiss of two youngsters could be. No, in fact, the kiss felt as if they had suddenly grown beyond their years! An image flashed into her mind; that of a burning fire under the rain...!

The most bizarre thing was that Hermione felt as if her heart had viciously crashed against a wall of warmth, fuzziness, something with much more than a feeling of home. It had to be what they say about souls recognising each other! But they were so young...!

It was surreal and mystifying.

However, it seemed as if Draco realised that they were a bit too comfortable, and his kiss became more and more like a punishing assault. As her senses gradually came back to her, she started wriggling ineffectually in his arms.

He pushed Hermione roughly down onto the cushions; fastening both of her wrists high above her head as one of his black boots pinned both of her ankles painfully down, preventing her from further struggling. Hermione bit at Draco's lips and he unclamped his mouth from hers, looking deep into her eyes, as if searching her soul; both of them breathing hard.

Hermione was trembling and reeling with shock, for she still could not fathom that Malfoy, the one who hated all Muggle-borns, would condescend to even coming that near to her. And where had that feeling of utter warmth come from? Was she hallucinating? But no, she reminded herself, he was not coming near to her...God no…he was…he was…

"Leave me, Malfoy! I'll re-report this you-you brute, let me go!" cried Hermione, feeling utterly powerless in his arms as a sudden, terrifying realization struck her. He would not stoop that low, she kept convincing herself, he would not! They were very young and...and...

"Ha…you'll report this, will you, Mudblood?" smirked Malfoy, a crazy light still dancing in the depth of his eerie silver-grey eyes.

"Yes...yes, I will – let me go, Malfoy! You are a foul-" Again Hermione was unable to continue her sentence as Malfoy placed his forefinger on her lips.

"Ssshhh…foul…yea, that was the word you used a few moments back, when you slapped me in front of your gloating friends, right? Foul and evil…I'll show you what foul and evil truly are, Granger!" Malfoy said in a dangerously quiet tone, bringing his lips merely inches from Hermione's. His hold at her wrists tightened, hurting her, and his boot dug even deeper into the soft skin at her ankles; her thin socks providing little protection.

"Mal…Malfoy…you can't...you won't…I'll –I'll report you and you'll be expelled!" Hermione muttered feebly, scared like she had never been before. Scared of this maddened Malfoy, and scared of the strange sensations inside of her. One of his hands was tracing languid circles at her waist over her robe, and it was starting to make normal breathing difficult. Rather, she found herself breathing rather heavily.

"But who'll believe you, Granger? Who will believe that I, Draco Malfoy, a renowned hater of repulsive, vile Mudbloods such as you, will deign so much as to stoop unbearably low to even touch the revolting person you are?"

"Stop it, Malfoy!" cried Hermione desperately, feeling her heart strangely breaking to pieces inside. That was nothing unusual from Malfoy. But why was it hurting her so much at that moment, Hermione thought. Was it because it was the first time Malfoy was so close to her and telling her what he thought of her, to her face? Was it because he was making her so swiftly become aware of the physical differences between a boy and a girl? Was it because, for an unforgettable moment, she had felt inexplicably close to him?

Hermione had never thought of Malfoy as anything other than a spineless tormentor, but now, up close, she could see a bottomless depth behind those expressive silver-grey eyes with the cerulean hues. So close to him, she was fast becoming aware of his handsome sharp features, of those red pomegranate lips that should, normally, have belonged only to some poor, starving and romantic poet freezing in his garret. She was noticing those amazingly long lashes of his; lashes witches would probably be stepping onto each other's dresses in order to have. Maybe she felt deeply hurt because she was noticing his extreme physical attractiveness when he was bent on telling her about her own repulsiveness, and showing to her how much he hated her.

"Stop what, Granger? You don't really think that I'm kissing or loving you, are you?" laughed Malfoy chillingly. "It is not 'Stop it, Malfoy' that you should be saying," Malfoy continued relentlessly, mimicking Hermione's scared, trembling voice accurately. "You should be saying, 'Have pity on me, Malfoy, I regret what I did' and, you can also add, 'I am a trashy, worthless Mudblood, and I won't come near you again'. Try saying that, I might be less rough with you," said Malfoy in that still cold, quiet tone of his that bristled with menace, his lips quirking even more as he enjoyed Hermione's plight.

"You can keep dreaming, Malfoy! You are despicable! I hate you more than anything else, you insane de-" Hermione started saying, her voice rising; her fright and hurt lay momentarily forgotten as Malfoy, yet again, caused her temper to get the better of her. However, once more, Malfoy prevented her from finishing her sentence by forcing his lips brazenly onto that of Hermione's; who helplessly tried to fight back. After a short while, Malfoy released her lips, breathing hard.

"Enjoying this as much as I am, are you, Granger? No? What, clever Granger cannot think of a way to extricate herself from this cleft stick? Poor Mudblood, still holding onto your crappy pride? I'm telling you, I will soil you through and through, and once I'm over with you, you'll think twice before coming anywhere near me again, you disgusting Mudblood! You'll feel dirty, and you will quietly accept yourself as a Mudblood. Also, you should know that I care not whether you hate me or not. But, you should be aware that, at this moment, I'm feeling nothing for you but loathing," Malfoy whispered savagely next to her ear as the hand that had been tracing sensuous circles at her waist grabbed a fistful of her robe in anger.

Hermione could not stop the tears that flowed from her eyes, and as Malfoy made for her lips once again, she turned her head; but Malfoy pursued and claimed her lips back even if she felt him becoming more and more hesitant. Was he starting to feel dirty too, by kissing her?

"Stop it, Draco, st-stop!" cried Hermione weakly as all fight left her body. How could he talk like that? That was not how teens of their age expressed themselves, she thought! What could have made him say such things; how could he feel things so intensely? How could he say things that could hurt so much without him having resort to actual physical violence! What made him become like that? There were so many questions which were assailing her and she had an answer to none! She was not aware that Malfoy had stilled when she called him 'Draco' for the first time ever.

"I'm sorry, Draco…sorry…" she mumbled, not realising that he had released her the moment she had stopped fighting him. Draco felt all his rage evaporate in an instant, and a deep sense of shame and self-disgust overwhelmed him. He had broken her pride, but he strangely felt as if it was he who was dissolving.

"Oh, get up, Granger!" he urged her as he gracefully got up to his feet. Hermione stayed in the same position he had previously pinned her down in; with her arms raised above her head, her tears drenching her cheeks.

"Granger, I said stop crying!" he said, more distressed than he'd ever admit to himself from seeing her making such a miserable figure. He had chosen words that intended to hurt her, but they had been words that were breaking her. Whatever he had said to her were mere words - never would he have stooped so low as to assault her! Physical assaults were for cowards; he had only wanted to frighten her. He had not liked it when she had exclaimed that she hated him, and, regrettably, he had been unable to retract the fiend that lived in his mouth that wanted to hurt and wound whoever made him feel vulnerable.

Indeed, Draco never cared about what others thought about him, but Hermione's words had a way of always hitting home, and it made him feel exposed. He had wanted to hit back at her; to make his words reach the core of her, and he despised himself for having succeeded.

"I said enough, Granger!" he said in a softly admonishing tone, detesting himself for having frightened her and making her so upset. Why was he feeling as if the tears that were escaping from her eyes were flowing to his heart? What did Granger have that other girls did not? What did Granger, a mere Muggle-born, have that had made him attribute so much importance to her; to how she was feeling, to how she thought about him?

Draco knelt down and gently brought her hands back to her sides. Hermione raised inquiring eyes at him, and he tenderly stroked away the tears from her face. Draco reached for his handkerchief inside his robe and, helping her rise in a sitting position, he placed the handkerchief at her nose, silently urging her to blow in it. Hermione did so and gaped as Draco smiled sadly at her openly shocked and bemused face.

It was the first time she had seen him genuinely smile and he looked stunning. She felt blown away by everything that had happened in the past half an hour. It was the first time she had seen an emotion in him that was different from haughtiness, indifference or spite.

"You should close those jaws, lest an owl flies into it!" laughed Draco, and Hermione quickly closed her lips, but could not help not staring at him. His laughter illuminated his face, and her racing heartbeat was being driven by an emotion that had nothing to do with fear.

Not fear, no, it was awe.

"What happened? Did you see a ghost, Granger?" Draco joked in a light-hearted manner, a slight twitch on his lips.

"Dra-Draco, are you-are you- feel-feeling al-alright?" Hermione tried asking in between embarrassing hiccups, unsure how to talk to this strange, disturbingly attractive and more human Malfoy. Her eyes could still not believe that Draco had smiled at her and had just asked her to blow her nose in his handkerchief! Earth had surely toppled upside down!

Draco's smile faded and his eyebrows quirked in concern. "You are asking me about how I am feeling when it is you who has been put under a silencing spell, immobilized, forcefully abducted, disarmed, pushed against a wall, pinned down on cushions, and have had to undergo an assault over your lips, and," he paused, "been hurt by words so vile that they define who I am?" Draco finished; his last sentence, a mere whisper.

His silver-grey eyes freckled with sapphire had turned almost violet due to the intensity with which he gazed at her. Hermione felt as if dragons were dancing inside of her, instead of the fluttering butterflies. She had no idea whether she was dreaming or awake, and neither did those details seem important. It is strange how she at once felt disoriented, lost, but oddly exhilarated nonetheless.

"After all this…" Malfoy continued, "you ask me how I am feeling? For all your intelligence, can you get any more stupid, Granger?" Malfoy sighed as he sat down on the cushions next to her.

"It is yourself that you need to be concerned about, foolish Granger! Are you okay?" Draco asked softly, with a tortured expression in his eyes.

"I'm…I'm okay, Dra-Draco. It's alright. I'm- I'm not hurt," Hermione stammered uncharacteristically, still unable to avert her eyes from Draco's face; queerly anxious to wipe out that agonized expression from his. What was happening? Had they been transported to some parallel universe? Why was she thinking like a grown up? Why was he behaving like some chivalrous knight, offering his handkerchief for her to blow her nose in and comforting her? Teenagers their age did not behave like that, did they? They did not feel things as intensely as she was feeling, did they?

"These tear stains on your face..." Draco paused as he gently traced his thumb and forefinger on her cheeks, "and these reddened lips," Draco tenderly delineated her lips with his fingers, "tell a different story and… You are shivering, Granger," Malfoy observed, and at once pointed his wand at a heap of rotting, wooden beams in a dark corner which, a few seconds later, became alight with a cozy fire. Nevertheless, the dawdling, fizzy and heady warmth that was spreading inside Hermione's body had another source altogether. Draco. She had to be dreaming, Hermione convinced herself, and if she was, she hoped that she would not wake up for another hour; rather not for another day; or maybe, not for at least another week.

"If I was a Muggle," Draco started saying with a wistful look on his face, "I would have given you my coat so as the cold does not get to you…but I'm a wizard, and I can easily conjure up a fire with my wand; thereby missing the opportunity to gallantly wrap you up in my robe. Muggles. They sure get many opportunities to be romantic," Draco commented.

Hermione was caught unawares at the next words that came from her very own lips: "But you are not an ordinary Muggle, Draco. You are a wizard and you made a fire. If we had both been Muggles, and you had given me your coat, I would still have felt cold…but the fire you have just created has banished away the cold altogether… That is much more gallant... Thank you…" Did she just say that? She never felt as if she was superior to Muggles as even her parents were Muggles! She just, at that moment, did not feel Draco to simply be an ordinary young boy. And was she going mad, or had he called Muggles romantic?

Draco studied the puzzled expression on her face, and her eyes that had that faraway look even if they were focused on his face.

"You must be wondering if I have gone mad, aren't you, Granger?" Draco smiled again and her heart did a back flip, or was that a somersault, or was that-

"I must be dreaming…" Hermione muttered half to herself, and nearly pinched herself before stopping, realising for a second time that if she was indeed dreaming, she did not want to wake up.

"You might be…or you will be," muttered Draco mysteriously, and to distract her, asked, "What is this Time-Turner for Granger? You, above anyone else, probably know that it is unsafe to play around with time! How come you have one with you?" He had drawn out the strange timepiece from his robe and was examining it.

"Oh!" exclaimed Hermione as she realized how she came here in the first place. "Give me that, we should be go-" Hermione reached for the Time-Turner but Draco threw it in the air, catching it back with his other hand and held it back from her.

"I will give it to you, Granger, but we will go back when I decide to," Draco said, his eyes colliding with Hermione's, and she received another jolt of electricity inside of her. No, she was almost certain these were not things that other young teenagers of their age could feel. Did Draco feel that too?

"I…I…Professor McGonagall lent it to me so that I could catch up with all my classes. We should not be here, we should go back, Draco!" Hermione said halfheartedly, secretly hoping that he would not listen to her.

"Can I touch you…there, Granger?" Draco asked, effectively ignoring what she had said, his teasing smile illuminating his face. He was downright gorgeous, thought Hermione, but as what he had just said slowly permeated through to her mind, she turned beetroot red all over and felt her face heating up.

"What? You- What- You just- Have you gone MAD?" Hermione managed to say breathlessly, even though her tongue felt plastered to the roof of her mouth.

"Relax, Granger, I'm just pulling your legs. Besides, that is just a Muggle song!" Draco laughed, winking at her and reached around Hermione's side. Hermione held her breath as he twisted over her without touching her, gracefully levering himself from where he sat to lie next to her on the cushions.

His arms were now propped against his handsome blond head as he lay on his side, looking at Hermione with those devastating, sparkling, ocean grey eyes. He was truly mesmerizing, thought Hermione. Wait a second, had he just casually avowed that he listened to Muggle songs? Hermione was on the point of questioning him when he, once again, managed to baffle her.

"You're a beautiful girl, Granger," Malfoy drawled sexily, leaving Hermione looking as if a troll had just thumped her on the head: stunned. Her mouth made a perfect O and would have stayed so if Malfoy had not reached up and closed her chin, still with that maddeningly gorgeous smile playing on his lips.

"And I'm sorry," he said, the tone of his voice changing from teasing playfulness to grave.

Hermione blinked once, twice, and, finally realising that she had heard well, asked:

"Sorry? For-for what?"

"Sorry for the way I've been treating you, Granger, sorry for calling you Mudblood…" he trailed off.

"Oh, Draco, it's okay, it's enough that you are now-" Hermione started saying but was cut off, mid-stride, by Draco as he had once again placed his finger on her lips.

"Don't be so quick, Granger, I haven't quite finished," Draco continued. "I also apologise for all the times in the future that I'll be calling you by that foul epithet," Draco said.

"I don't understand, what do you mean?" asked a puzzled Hermione.

Malfoy sat up and, in doing so, towered above Hermione by a few inches. Hermione's eyes greedily reached up to him.

"I mean that it is not the last time that I'll be calling you 'Mudblood', and I'm truly sorry for it. I admire you, Granger, you are a wonderful girl. You are prepared to do anything for your friends, and you are often their staunchest support. I would have liked to have someone like you near me," Draco confessed to Hermione, who found herself wondering yet again whether she had not really died and was now hovering on a strange plane between life and death.

Giving herself a mental shake, she said, "Draco, we can be friends, too! There is no reason why Gryffindor cannot mingle with Slytherin and vice versa, there is no reason why we should not sit at the table together and be –"

"No, Granger," he cut her off. "I don't want to be your friend," he said. Hermione lowered her head; her eyes started scrutinizing the floor, for she had no idea how to explain the tears that were suddenly swimming in them. What was Draco doing to her? What was she letting him do to her? How come every single word of his arrowed straight to her heart? What were these jumbles of emotions that were currently assailing her?

"Look at me, Granger," urged Draco, gently taking her chin in his hand and turning her face so that she looked at him. "I don't want you only as a friend. I think I've had a crush on you ever since I remember. But now, I don't think that it is a crush, or mere infatuation anymore. I think I'm falling for you, Granger…" He paused, looking deep into her soul, before continuing, "And if I don't distance myself very far from you physically, or alienate you through my words whenever I address you, I'm afraid it might turn to suicidal obsession…"confessed Draco, oh so softly.

His voice ran down the entire length of her body, making her shiver with something she had never felt before! It was like the caress of a feather that tickled her skin, and at the same time made her blood feel like viscous honey inside. What was that, she wondered? Was it pleasure? How come Draco was making her aware of her own body at a level she had never paid attention to before? And how could he talk like that? Where were those mature sounding words coming from? Had he always been like that? How could she have been so blind before? No, she was not totally blind. She had always known that Draco was quite intelligent and very observant, even if she would never have admitted it before. She had not known that he could be so passionate.

In fact, it was queer how she felt that they were not merely two young people talking; instead, it felt as if they were communicating with each other's ancient souls. Certainly, that had to be what was happening, thought Hermione. She was thinking in a way that she had never done before, in words she did not know the origin of, and was feeling things that could not be felt by students in only their third year at Hogwarts!

"You- You-I-what-I-" stammered Hermione incoherently. She seemed to be doing that a lot around him!

"You don't need to answer me, Granger; it was just something I had to get off my chest. I know that you only think me as an unfeeling, arrogant jerk, and I also know that we are not fated to be together," he paused shortly. Draco, too, was realising that inexplicable things were happening between them, and whatever he was telling her came from the core of him.

"You'll probably end up with Potter or Weasley, though I'm more inclined to think it will be Weasley, because he is very protective of you. He's always trying to defend you against me, and each time, I just want to rip his head off for doing so. I hate seeing the grateful light in your eyes each time he stands up against me! Still, you'll probably be happier with either of them. There is this rift between us that cannot be breached-" Draco broke off and turned away, staring morosely in space. His beautiful blond profile moved Hermione. Was she suddenly falling for him too?

"I can see no rift between us, Draco… We are so close…see?" whispered Hermione as she lowered her eyes, feeling incredible shy as her hand tentatively reached out to his arms, causing him to turn to face her. She did not know why it felt so important to stress how much she believed what she was saying to be true; that it was not impossible between Draco and her.

"You should not have said that, Hermione… Sweet…sweet Hermione," Draco whispered, his intense, bluish-grey eyes speared through her. He brought his face near to hers and touched her lips with his own in a butterfly caress. He deepened the contact between them and kissed her slowly, sensually, and with so much heartbreaking tenderness that tears flowed from Hermione's eyes. Draco kissed her tears away before reclaiming her lips back in that loving passion. Her face felt burning hot, and it was as if her blood was heating up on smouldering coals.

When he broke the kiss, she thought she glimpsed how dying felt like. She felt that life was slipping away from her, and she tightened her arms that had somehow wound their way around Draco's waist. Draco smiled at her, and she managed to find her voice to whisper in a tone filled with wonder:

"You called me Hermione… You called me Hermione for the first time, Draco…"she observed, thrilling vibrations travelling up and down her body. Draco had said her name in a way no one ever had before. It was full of approval, affection, and, incredibly, something approaching reverence.

"And you've been calling me Draco for the first time too, sweet one…" he noted, a strange sad mist danced at the bottom of his lovely eyes.

"I guess it is time we go Her-" Draco started saying, but could not continue as Hermione quickly cut in.

"No! I-I mean…it's okay…we can stay some more," she suggested pleadingly.

"Now, that is very uncharacteristic of my responsible little kitten…" whispered Draco as he took out her wand and placed it between both of her trembling hands.

"You can jinx me if you want, Hermione," said Draco smiling before he continued. "No, you can kill me if you want; it would be a most beautiful way of dying," he stated playfully.

Hermione's finger reached across Draco's lips automatically.

"I would rather die first," she muttered, unable to comprehend from where such profound and fierce emotion came from; but, feeling her words with every inch of her soul.

"You are way too young to be talking about death, Hermione. You have a whole happy lifetime stretching in front of you; even if I would not be in it," Draco sighed.

"Ssshhh-" He stopped Hermione who was on the point of countering his statement. "This is probably the first and last time we'll ever be alone again. It is also the first and last time you've heard me say those words, my sweet one. I'm going to turn the timepiece now so that we can go back," Draco said as he started turning the clock.

"Wait, Draco! You haven't told me why you chose to come here, in this tower instead of back at the castle's doors, where you could have stopped me from slapping you and changed the whole outcome!" Hermione asked, very anxious to buy some more time with this strange, unusual, lovely and stunning Draco Malfoy.

"Buying time, Granger? It will not work with me. I can read you, baby," he whispered close to her lips, and kissed her at the same time they were transported back to where they had been originally standing; on the staircase leading to the Gryffindor common room.

Back to the real world.

Back to where Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger were irreconcilable foes.

They stood facing each other in silence, both of their hearts thumping madly. Draco was the first to break the silence that had been thrumming with deep feelings.

"Hermione, if there was one last thing you could say to me, were we to talk for the last time, what would it be?"

Hermione tried to shake herself up from gazing at him with such wonderstruck awe.

"I…I think I'm falling for you too, Draco," she whispered back. She had told him that she thought she was falling for him, but it was not true. Even if she was so young, she knew what she felt for him could not be encompassed in the famous four letter word. She could not comprehend the deep-seated sadness and regret that had appeared in his fathomless, mesmerizing eyes.

"Do you know the Muggle song called 'Is this love?' sung by Whitesnake?" Draco asked playfully, trying to lighten the mood.

Hermione blinked. "No...I don't know it... How come you listen to Muggle songs, Draco?" she asked, bemused.

"There are many things you don't know about me, Hermione," Draco said. Hermione just kept gazing at him, and unlike Draco, stayed oblivious to the approaching sounds of footsteps.

"Will you trust me if I ask you to do something?" asked Draco, a sense of urgency in his voice.

"Yes, yes I will!" Hermione replied without hesitating, her eyes shining with trust and…newfound love.

Draco lifted his hand to her forehead and gently made his way down to her chin as he said, "Close your eyes, my sweet one." As she smiled in anticipation and closed her eyes, Draco slowly walked away from her, his heart feeling like a cumbersome load inside his chest. As soon as he was far enough not to be noticed, he aimed his wand at her.

"I'm sorry, Hermione…" he said, pointing his wand at her and whispered, "Obliviate."

It was a memory charm that would make her forget their little escapade in the tower. It was a spell that would make her forget the Draco Malfoy she had come to appreciate; even if it was the tiniest little bit. It was a spell that doomed Draco to a lifetime of unhappiness. Even if he was still merely a teenager, he had grown up long ago, and the wrenching pain in his heart was telling him that forgetting Granger would be quite an ordeal.

"Our roads only crossed briefly and we must separate, Hermione. We both have different journeys and different destinations. I'm only sorry I permitted myself to selfishly indulge in this brief, beautiful encounter with you. It did not assuage anything. I'm just burning more fiercely than ever, and I'll probably end up in ashes… That is my concern, though. Good luck, my sweet one…"

Draco clasped his wand so tightly it was threatening to snap in two. He watched sadly as Hermione came back to herself. She looked about in a surprised manner and, slowly shaking her head, trudged back to the Gryffindor common room.

Where had Harry and Ron disappeared to, thought Hermione. She'll catch up with them later. Right now, she was feeling strange, and there was a heaviness in her heart that she could not quite place. It was as if she had left something crucial behind. Had she misplaced the Time-Turner, she thought wildly before being reassured as she felt it in her pocket, safe. Was it because she had just slapped Malfoy? No, it could not be; the arrogant prick deserved that! Besides, a nap would do her the greatest of good…

She would think later.

**End Notes:** _Look forward to have a peek into Draco's diary and his world whilst he had been studying at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the first few chapters...there might be many things you might not know about him; his feelings, his hobbies and basically, who is Draco Malfoy? Is he merely a cowardly bully or is he someone with deep feelings? Who is Lydian Hydras? What is it about a certain Lighthouse painting? Who might Sirin be?_


	2. Chapter 1: Draco's Diary

**Chapter Notes: **_This first chapter, like the next four chapters that will follow, is focused on Draco. You'll see for yourself what kind of a person he is. You'll learn what goes on in his mind through a glimpse in his personal diary... Don't tell him you've had a look in there, though! I dare say he will not be very happy! Ssshhh...you are about to step into the inner world of Draco Malfoy, proceed with caution! _

_**Chapter 1:**__** Draco's Diary**_

_**A diary to write secrets in**_

_**A diary to open your soul to**_

_**A diary, a best friend**_

Draco lay spread on his stomach across his wide, dark wood, platform bed, fully relaxed after a shower. The walls of his room were made of bluish-dark, polished granite that perfectly complimented the decor. A large oak cupboard was seamlessly embedded inside one of the walls so that it did not clutter the already spacious room. Draco's school materials were neatly piled on a large crystal table, where the surface glowed from the light of an antique, six-branched candelabra. The candelabra's branches were in the form of snakes that slowly moved about and switched places on the stem. From their open mouths, dark blue flames hissed delicately.

The silver blond hair of the eleven-year old contrasted perfectly with his velvet-black pajamas, which were embroidered at the back with the dark green and gold colours of the family crest. The latter depicted two serpents entwined around a powerful looking, fire spitting dragon with, oddly, some kind of dagger piercing the dragon's heart. There was something in the depiction of the dragon's eyes that always spoke to Draco. However, when he had asked his father about the impressive looking dragon from the family's coat of arms, his father had only answered that they had had the family crest for as long as he could remember, and that it was not uncommon for pure-blood wizarding families to have dragons or snakes representing their clans! Lucius and his forefathers had been so used to the family crest devolved from one generation of Malfoy to the other, that they had never asked themselves any questions about the drawing!

It had not missed Draco's keen eyes, though, and the young boy did not find the information given by his father to be very satisfactory. He had wanted to know why such an extraordinary looking dragon had a dagger at its heart, but, above all, why should such a creature have the saddest looking eyes he had ever seen. It was as if the dragon was dying from a pain that was not physical. Draco knew that it was not the dagger that was hurting the majestic creature. The little boy, therefore, waited patiently till he was eight years old; the required age to gain access to the grand _Emerill Archeus Wizarding Library_ in London.

The library was known as the biggest in Europe, and it was a repository for all kinds of arcane, magical knowledge from centuries and millenniums ago. It was there that he had learned about the dragon.

It was called Lydian Hydras; the alter ego of the wizard Lydian Hydras, and said to be the most powerful creature of the ancient wizarding world. Lydian Hydras had been the only wizard ever who could, as an Animagus, morph into a dragon.

One day, while Lydian was passing through the French countryside, he came across a wizard wedding. The friendly wizards, awed by who he was, graciously invited him to the ceremony. Lydian immediately fell for the beautiful bride. He killed the whole wedding party and abducted the witch. At first, the witch, stunned and frightened, kept rejecting him. Even if he was not one with a gentle soul, Lydian kept her by his side without touching her. He often surprised the witch crying quietly in a corner, and because of her, he started developing a conscience, coming to bitterly regret the massacre he had done.

The ancient book Draco had been reading went on to tell that Lydian, however, never showed his emotions; he never showed to the witch that he was changing, that he felt remorse, and that the guilt was eating away at him with every breath he took. He had, often times, come close to freeing her from him, but never mustered the courage to let go of her.

It is recounted that one night the witch came to his side, telling him that she accepted him. Lydian, overjoyed, made her his that night, and in the morning when he woke up, instead of seeing love in the eyes of the woman he had abducted and whose family he had murdered, he saw that she held a dagger in her hands. He did nothing to dodge the weapon that pierced his heart. She hated him so much, she did not bother killing him with her wand. She had wanted to see his blood. She had wanted to hurt him as much as he had hurt her by killing her family. The witch ran away, but as Lydian lay there dying, he gradually changed into his animal shape, a dragon.

A dragon so huge, immense and wonderful, and whose cries of agony were said to reverberate across the whole of the world, causing huge ripples in lakes and seas. As it died, its impressive jaws opened and the gargantuan fire that spilled from its soul were said to have reached the skies, and drowned the Earth in a crimson glow for weeks afterwards. It is said that Lydian, powerful as he was, could have gotten up and rescued himself. Yet, he chose to die, for it was not the dagger in his heart that was hurting; it was the hatred he had glimpsed in the eyes of the one he had fallen madly in love with.

The poor witch who had run away hardly knew she was already carrying the child of the man she detested with all her might. The beautiful pregnant witch was looked upon with dread by the rest of the wizarding community; not because she had killed Lydian, but because Lydian had chosen her in the first place. Lydian had been a wizard who had been feared by everyone, and the fact that he had chosen that witch as consort suggested that she, too, was somehow bad; 'Mal'…as they said in French. Every exploit the witch ever accomplished was viewed as tainted, and she acquired the surname 'Malfoy'.

Draco's beautiful eagle owl uttered a deep, high pitched hoot as it swept into the room, back from its nightly prowl. She was called Sirin, and had been handpicked by Draco when he was merely five years old. Ever since Draco had owned the bird, she had never been in a cage. Draco detested cages and held them in high contempt. He believed cages were not the place for large, regal creatures such as owls.

Sirin landed on the bed next to him, and lightly pecked him at the neck as Draco patted the bird's head. It was long ago that Draco had discovered Sirin to be deaf, but he had never revealed that to anybody else. His parents would never have accepted to keep a bird that was, for them, debilitated and, therefore, no fit pet for Draco. But Sirin had never had any difficulty due to its deafness; indeed, her deafness had accentuated her others senses. She and Draco seemed to be able to communicate with mere eye language.

It was nearing midnight, and a roaring fire cackled in the fireplace. The glass panes separating his room and private balcony were opened wide, and the wind caused the candles lit in the magnificent crystal chandelier on the ceiling to flicker genially. A candle sconce, featuring an antique mirror set in a silver-leafed metal frame, adorned another one of the stone walls. Neither the candles nor the hearth fire would be extinguished, even if, at times, the gush of wind that swept into the room was particularly strong; they had been enchanted. The musky scents of roses, moonflower vines, lilacs, and Clematis terniflora that grew down in the garden, floated inside his room.

Other than the mischievous wind, Malfoy Manor was so deathly quiet. Draco was used to such still silence, being the sole child in the family. When he had been younger, he had often secretly wished for a playmate, but that wish had faded away as he grew up. His silver-grey eyes, that oftentimes appeared to turn silver-blue, was currently focused on a night black diary as he scribbled down on the pitch black pages with a long feathered, black swan quill. The quill's ink, which was that of the changing colours of fire, seeped into the thick page, and the eleven-year-old's beautiful handwriting glowed back, reflecting in his shrewd eyes.

_Two days remaining before my first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_Bought myself a new diary today at "Magical Papyrus" in Diagon Alley! Quite an impressive shop that one! Rows upon rows of diaries of all shapes and sizes, seemingly, reaching sky high! And all of them with a story to tell it seemed! There were diaries which only silly girls would be buying. Saw a little red- haired one looking wistfully at a diary which was in the shape of a disturbingly flesh-like heart, with crimson pages in between the skin-like cover; "Make me yours and you'll give me life, Keep me close and I'll share your plight", were the words that were engraved on the cover. At the next moment, it changed to "Touch me and make my heart start beating, Adopt me and I'll treasure your every secret meeting"._

_Talk about corny!_

_One particularly stupid diary, in the form of a crocodile, even bit my finger! Smacked its head and it started crying crocodile tears, drenching the lime coloured pages that fast turned a murky jade! Pitiful! I hate tears; they never move me! As father says, crying is for the weak and pathetic Muggles. Pure-blood wizards should never fall that low. I would rather die than be seen crying!_

_Anyway, the only drawback about magical diaries is that once words have been written, they cannot be erased! The makers of the diary believed that the first words written on paper always showed best what you really felt! True or not, I cannot say!_

_The last diary I had is, at this moment, cackling in the flames of the fireplace! I've never been one to reread what I've written before. Only pitiable souls can waste time over what is in the past and feel nostalgic. Besides, that eight-year-old diary's lion cover was turning senile and chewing on the pages! Nostalgia…I wonder how that feels! I've never felt it before! What a futile emotion! Heard two drunkards in the streets reminiscing about their good ole times fighting 'You Know Who'…that must be nostalgia! Now that they are not part of the Resistance anymore, their existence has no more meaning. Ha, the wretched good- for-nothings! Nobody ever pays attention to those countless unnamed who have played their own part in the downfall of the Dark Lord. It is their fault, of course, they chose the wrong side! Had they chosen 'You Know Who', they'd have been famous, too. Notorious, feared, and probably locked in Azkaban, but famous! _

_Had to give the slip to Mother and Father for a few minutes in order to get this new diary! They would not have seen my writing a diary with an approving eye! Not the sort of base and useless exercise a pure-blood Malfoy should be wasting his time on, Father would probably say! Imagine the shame if it is ever found and read! A Malfoy with a diary! So very unlikely. I would only be writing at the end of the school year. The diary stays at home, well hidden. _

_Safer this way._

_Little do my parents know I have been keeping a personal journal for as long as I know! In fact, they don't even know that my first diary was given to me by the poor bugger Dobby, the house-elf, when I turned three! Sometimes I feel sorry for the constant taunts that piteous elf has to endure, but well, Father says their places are at our feet! 'Useless vermin,' he calls Dobby! I think it serves their kind right…that elf has not an ounce of courage in him! If someone treated me as abjectly as that, I would have rebelled and given them a good piece of my mind, and not to mention, a taste of my fists; even though I dislike physical blows! No, physical blows hardly hurt, but words do! …Whilst physical blows do wound, they heal quickly with the help of magical potions, but words, words slash at the heart and forever mark one's memory._

_Silly Dobby, why does he put up with all of that bad treatment, even from me? Is it because he knows no better? Anyway, unless he decides to stand up for his own sake, nobody is going to save him. In this world, gone are those who are going to fight your battles. Humans are selfish. They only fight their own private battles; deluding themselves into thinking that they are doing something for the better good! I know better than to mingle with the likes of those self-deluded ones!_

_On the subject of words hurting, well maybe the Cruciatus Curse can hurt even more than words! It did seem painful the way Father described it a few days ago! Of course, he's never been subject to it, but whilst he had been one of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters, he had had to put a few people under the curse. I wonder if they teach how to perform the Cruciatus Curse at Hogwarts! It would be fun trying it on those blood traitors I guess! Don't think that old Dumbledore will allow any of that, though! He is turning into a senile old frog, Father says. Like my old diary, Dumbledore probably needs to be replaced…a thing of the past he is…!_

_I do hope Hogwarts would provide some nice distraction to kill time; preferably, some contemptible wizards who go around sporting inferiority complexes, who have never learnt to stand up for themselves, and unconsciously, revel in the feeling of being made victims. It would be fun to antagonize them and see them running with their tails between their shaky legs! Yes, that would be fun! They would later probably credit me with having helped them forge stronger personalities instead of being sissies, ha!_

_Both Mother and Father have warned me against associating with Muggle-borns! I dare say I don't want to write down the word they use when they describe wizards that are issued from marriages between two Muggles. I am not allowed to use swear words at home; they are not befitting for pure-bloods who are refined and good-mannered, Father says. However, that word used to qualify Muggle-borns does sound like a swear word to me! Anyway, it is not like I need a warning to know that I am not to befriend those types of lesser wizards!_

_On another subject, I would, evidently, be in Slytherin! Can't imagine being anywhere else! All the Malfoys have been in Slytherin except Great Uncle Habeas Orpheus Malfoy, who did not even go to wizarding school! It is not allowed to talk about him at home, and he has died long ago when he had been only thirty-three. Slytherin sounds much cooler than the rest! Most of the great wizards have been in Slytherin! And besides, _

"_Lime green, lime green and tangerine  
The sickly sweet colors of the snakes I'm seeing  
Lime green and tangerine  
The sickly sweet colors of the devil in my dreams…"_

_Slytherin's dominant colour is, of course, green! Just like in that famous Muggle song, green…the colour of the Devil, penetrating intellect and cunning the other houses do not have! Oh, Gryffindor's bravery and courage blah-blah are highly overrated and overblown! What is the use of being courageous but stupid? You are more likely to lose your life sooner if that is the case!_

_Anyway, concerning Muggles, if there is anything ever good that came out of that normally contemptible lot, it is some of their music! That group called 'The Smiths' is really good, and does seem wiser than the rest of the usually dimwitted Muggles! Cool songs, even better than the 'Weird Sisters'! Nevertheless, you'll never catch me saying anything praiseworthy of Muggles if it were not for this diary! Father, and even Mother who dotes on me, would probably box my ears if they knew what I listen to! Not that I'll ever tell anyone._

_Never._

_I, Draco Malfoy, am a true pure-blood and I'll never be a blood traitor._

_Ha, also, I'm looking forward to being selected for Slytherin's Quidditch team this year! I've heard that first years are not normally allowed on the team, but I believe I'm good enough to become one of the youngest Quidditch players in ages! I have been flying on the broom for as long as I can remember! There is no reason I would not be qualified to play for Slytherin! Father would be proud of me!_

_On another noteworthy subject, rumour has it that Harry Potter will be coming to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year! I wonder what he is like! It might be fun to have him as friend I suppose… He must be revelling in all that fame! The Boy Who Lived; though, I reckon, "The Boy loved by All" or "The Boy fawned over by All" could be particularly fitting as well! If he knows what's good for him, he'll accept the hand of friendship I'll extend to him! No one ever refused friendship with a Malfoy before; our family is rather influential, I dare say! He would not dare refuse such a beneficial prospect! _

_That's it; I'm off to bed. Until next year, Diary, Adieu & Goodbye!_

**A Year Later**

Draco trudged back into his room after having been greeted by a feast which was comprised of: chicken parmigiana, rice pilaf, roasted potatoes, cheesecake, treacle tart, pumpkin juice, chocolate fudge cake, as well as jello! He had hardly enjoyed it as much as he would have wanted to, though, for his father kept getting back at him for not having shone better at school or winning the Slytherin House Cup.

It was only two hours ago since Hogwarts Express left the students who attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at Platform nine and three-quarters. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were glad their only son was back home, even though they were never effusive over emotions! A brief hug from his mother and a pat on the shoulder from his father was the only greeting he received or needed, for that matter. Crabbe and Goyle had gleefully rushed back to their own parents, who'd brought their favourite sweets and cakes from 'Sunset Sweets and Pastries', the shop which was Crabbe's and Goyle's number one haunt in Diagon Alley!

As Draco turned the crystal knob of the beautiful, opaque glass door opening on his bedroom, he immediately noticed that his school materials had already been carried up to his room, and had been neatly arranged on the crystal table that was in the middle of his room, directly underneath the impressive chandelier. Draco walked to the sliding glass panes separating his luxurious room and balcony, and opened them wide, loving the instant rush of wind that caressed his sandy blond hair. He stepped outside, barefoot on the marble balcony, and closed his eyes, relishing the moment. He let the pressure his father had the knack of putting on him uncoil from his body, and inhaled a lungful of fresh air, sighing with contentment.

It was Dobby's work, Draco thought. Dobby had not only baked the whole of the feast Draco had just had a taste of, but he had also brought up all of his school stuffs. Queer house-elves! So self-effacing with that inherently grovelling nature! He had chided Dobby downstairs over the treacle tart which, incidentally, was completely fine; just to see whether the elf had at least changed whilst he had been away! Instead, Dobby had started hitting his head on the floor, at Draco's feet, whilst offering apologies profusely!

Now that he was home, Draco resolved that he will make life hell for Dobby, and by doing so, he'll make the elf stronger, as well as making it easier for Dobby to feel more and more alienated and despised. He'll push Dobby to his limit so that the pathetic little bugger finally came to his senses and rebelled! Once and for all, he'll make the elf feel that even he deserved better treatment! He'll make Dobby feel resentful and tired of such a miserable way of living. Wherever the elf decided to go afterwards will not matter, for he will undoubtedly be happier away from the hell he lived, on a daily basis, at Malfoy Manor.

Dobby is a very clever elf, and Draco cannot gift him clothes even if he would have wanted to free him himself, because the elf was also a sentimental fool! Indeed, presenting clothes to a house-elf is a way of freeing the elf from enslavement. Dobby would not have accepted the cloth, for he would have valued the action behind the gifting of a cloth as worth another lifetime of insults and bad treatment. No, this was not what Draco wanted. Draco wanted Dobby to leave without feeling any kind of misplaced guilt, and he knew that if Dobby was made to feel sufficiently upset, the elf would be able to come up with a way of leaving this life of misery behind. And once Dobby is gone, for Draco is sure that the elf will manage to go away by some way or another, Draco will miss him!

Yes, Draco Malfoy will miss a house-elf.

He harboured faint memories of Dobby secretly stealing to his room and narrating adventure stories to him when he was only a small child. Draco also remembered clandestinely seeking out Dobby to play hide and seek. He pitied Dobby, and now that he was home, Draco resolved that he will have to be cruel in order to be kind to the house-elf. It was now or never. Draco would hate himself some more after that, but there was nothing new there. He always seemed to hate himself a little more with every year that passed…

It seemed as if it was time to get back to writing in his diary again!

He walked away from the balcony and retrieved his diary from behind the beautifully stirring painting that hung on one of the stone walls of his bedroom. It was a painting he had made himself two years ago, inspired by a trip to the sea coast. Painting was something that he missed greatly, and nobody knew that he could paint, not even Lucius or Narcissa Malfoy! He had told them that he had bought the painting, instead.

The painting showed moving waves that were constantly lashing out at a lonely lighthouse. The lighthouse was perched on a high, black rock outcrop in the middle of the sea, and its light slowly revolved round and round infinitely, never tired, never complaining; devoting its existence to helping ships pass the dangerously rocky straits safely, with an almost melancholic resignation to its fate.

Oftentimes, the rain would start falling inside of the picture, and it was only on rare days that the sun's rays would come out. It was on those rare sunny days that, if one peered hard enough, one could see a lone being with silver-blond hair sitting perched high up on the railing of the lighthouse, with a tiny black violin in his hands. The blond-haired figure would seem to any onlooker as being slightly suicidal, as the waves that lashed out seemed almost always angry.

Draco preferred the full moon nights depicted in the painting; when the moon rays illuminated the sea and made a pathway that seemed to lead directly to his room. On those nights, even the waves seemed to calm down with the soothing kiss of the moon, and at intervals a haunting tune could be heard floating from the painting to Draco's room.

A painting drawn by a wizard almost always tended to vary and change according to the moods of the painter, even if they were miles apart. When Draco felt very angry, either the waves would smash the glass panes of the lighthouse, causing the blond figure to drop the violin and open his hands to welcome the waves; or, a ship that happened to be passing by would smash on the rocks, in spite of the light from the lighthouse. It was something that Draco hated. True, he had painted it such, but he never liked seeing ships wrecked and its innocent passengers killed. He thus learned to be cool headed in most situations.

Playing the violin was another one of his hidden talents. His parents had first noticed his aptitude for making music when he was still a four-year-old child. However, the small, black, wooden violin that Dobby had given to him had been made subject of collective laughter and taunts at his birthday party. Draco, eager to please his parents, had smashed the violin, to the approval of Lucius Malfoy, and purposely ignored the tears that had welled up in Dobby's eyes. Even though Draco had been so young, those tears were forever engraved in his memory. Those were tears of hurt; hurt _he_ had caused to someone. That was one of the reasons why he hated tears so much, and despised those who showed their weaknesses by crying.

Draco never played music in front of his parents. He did so only when he went on trips on his own, buying a new violin each time and abandoning the latter when he was due to return home. Unfortunately, such trips were few, because Narcissa Malfoy could be very protective when she wanted to!

Draco got hold of his diary and his black swan quill before throwing himself on his bed, and opened his journal on a bare page.

_My first year spent at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry & some other thoughts:_

_Diary, I'm back after a year. Feels good to be back in this room! It has been a peculiar year, and things have not gone exactly the way I thought it would have before I went to Hogwarts! _

_Disappointing, truly._

_Potter is now my enemy and so are all of his friends. He dared refuse my friendship that scarhead! The loss is all his actually, but, at first, it did irritate me! Never has someone refused to be friends with a Malfoy! Seeing how much of a duncehead Potter is, and his mingling with flea-ridden Weasley and that Muggle-born Granger, now I would not accept him as a friend even if he wriggled down in front of me!_

_Go to hell, Potty & Co. _

_Muggle-born Granger is something of a jumped up know-it-all! It is as if her seats are living porcupines in class, with her restlessly jumping up and down whenever she knows an answer! And, annoyingly, that is almost always! Glad that Professor Snape is the only one who ignores her raised hands, ha! _

_Also, I have not even made it into the Slytherin Quidditch team whilst Potty has become a Seeker! He is quite the Hero for Gryffindor back at Hogwarts. He and his foolish friends have even flaunted their supposed bravery by rescuing Philosopher Stone from the grips of Quirrell, and Dumbledore awarded them points that helped them win the House Cup! Talk about excessive and unfair!_

_Father is not very happy about the way my first year at Hogwarts has gone by. He does want me to show that I'm a pure-blooded Malfoy and rise up above everyone else at that school! I guess it is useless to explain to him that most of those students are too low to even bother about rising over them! Anyway, something tells me this is not the first time that Potter and Company will be meddling into affairs that do not concern them, and afterwards be hailed and congratulated for having broken school rules and saving the world of evil!_

_Pathetic bunch. Damn._

_Do I smell envy here, Draco Malfoy? Rich, arrogant and oh-so-perceptive Draco? No, of course not, there is no reason for me to be envious of that stinky lot. No reason for me to be envious of the blatant and cosy friendship they share. Friends become weaknesses, and caring makes you vulnerable. I would not become a vulnerable person. No reason for me to be envious of Potter being so famous and appreciated by all! They truly are the touchy-feely bunch. _

_I see Granger jumping around Potty's and Weasel's neck at every opportunity she gets! How can Potter or Weasley tolerate a Muggle-born coming that close to them? Shame they are wizards! Should have been born Muggles! And that disgusting Granger, ughh… Does she have no sense of self preservation? She does not really need an excuse to get close to them, it seems._

_Insufferable Granger. _

_Overheard flea-ridden Weasel making fun of her having no friends once, and Granger ran away in tears! She should have learnt not to get close to Potty and Weasel again, but she did show that she had dirty blood running in her veins by running back to them at the next chance she got! It is quite a paradox that she is so brilliant in her studies, but still acts like a silly fool around those two! Clearly, it is the effect of being a Muggle-born!_

_As for my supposed friends, Crabbe and Goyle, they are more like brainless cronies interested in nothing else but food! They never disagree with anything I say, they laugh at my every joke, and have no opinion of their own. Still, hanging out with them prevents me from having to loiter around alone like a lost soul!_

_Damn Hogwarts! _

_Don't feel like it's a place that will really recognize true talent or ingenuity, and permit others who are not from Gryffindor to really shine! My first year has not been a great one. Not a great one indeed. Hopefully the next year will be better! Going to work harder and try to get into the Slytherin Quidditch team. Maybe then it would be less boring!_

_It is a pity there are no painting or music lessons at Hogwarts! On second thought, it is better that there are none of those classes. Nobody in Slytherin would believe me, Draco Malfoy, to excel in activities like those. No, Draco Malfoy is famed for being an arrogant boy who boasts around a lot and behaves like a cowardly bully! That is the image you have to keep, Draco; for your own sake, you can't show people your vulnerable side since music and painting tends to bring out things you don't like to show! _

_Indeed, that is why I've stayed away from the brush, palette, and violin a whole, long year! I'm missing those, though. Guess I'll soon have to make an excuse about going on an outing with Crabbe and Goyle, and afterwards find myself a lovely violin, plenty of sheets, and colour to make up for a whole year sabbatical from my favourite activities! I happen to know an abandoned, crumbling dwelling in Cornwall that is right next to some plunging cliffs. Nobody ever goes there, and that would be the ideal place to spend some of my holidays! _

_Ah, I do remember one particular breathtaking sunset at St. Michael's Mount. It has been captured in one of my paintings, and is now in my secret locker behind the Lighthouse Painting. I remember the exquisite sun, a perfect, round fire ball slowly sinking at the horizon, not even hurting the eyes. And at the same level, the castle on St. Michael's Mount lay drenched in the pale mauve, pink, soft red and blue of the dazzling palette in the sky. The sea reflected the delicate pastel mixture of light mauve and soft cherry. _

_Such awe-inspiring beauty! Simple, true and enviable._

_I think my parents would have found it suspicious if I let most of my drawings hang about my room. They do not regard painting highly; believing them to be an activity better relegated to bohemians, gypsies, or other wandering fools, and Muggle-borns with no aim in life. Great Uncle Habeas Malfoy had been disowned from the family for having made painting his life's ambition, and for associating with Muggle painters; even though the latter had been very famous in the Muggle world._

_His name has been wiped out from the family tree, and most people do not even know about him! He had left the Malfoy ancestral home when he had been merely fifteen -years-old so as to live free with his passions. Great Uncle Habeas was known to have said that wizarding schools tampered with the minds of the young students, seeking to stultify their free spirits and imagination. He hated school, and refused to attend one till the very end._

_Habeas Malfoy died young, and his sudden death, to this day, is still very much shrouded in mystery. Rumours about some kind of cursed violin being the cause of his death circulated for some time, though! Great Uncle Habeas was not the only one in the family with 'un-Malfoy-ish' genes! Indeed, Great-Great-Grandfather Eldonius Abraxus Malfoy was said to have never gotten over the fact that his first wife deserted him. He had previously been somewhat of a womaniser who loved living the good life. However, all that changed when he met his first wife. He loved her very much, but for some reason, she left him._

_He then married another beautiful witch, my Great-Great-Grandmother. He never loved her as much as he loved his first wife, and he spent all of his days lost in drinks. He died young, too, at the age of thirty-five._

_I think if we retraced the family tree to the very start, there might be many such accounts. It seems to me that the Malfoys of generations-past have not always been that uptight and sophisticated. Many of them have proven to be individuals with fiery natures who felt things at a level many did not feel._

_Anyway, back to the subject of my parents hating paintings. One of the reasons they give is that Muggle paintings, of course, do not move, are lifeless, and a plain waste of time to look at. Nevertheless, other than music, some Muggle paintings are truly good even if they do not move! The mixture of colours and emotion some Muggles manage to put in those paintings make the latter tell stories of their own…_

_Patently, motion is not all. If you stand long enough in front of an excellent Muggle painting like I've so often surreptitiously done, it is not difficult to hear the painting speak to you or reach to you._

_Wow…writing, I see, really helps in exorcising one's demons! I do seem rather hungry to write some stuffs that have been on my mind, on paper. If it depended on my parents, they'll surely point out my demons as being my fascination with painting and playing the violin._

_I'm glad they do not a thing about those. I'm glad nobody knows in reality, not even my supposed 'friends'. _

_Sometimes, like now, I pity Muggles! How can they live without magic? Are they happy living as they do? I guess I'm not really qualified about asking whether they are happy or not! Indeed, what is happiness? Yes, Draco, this is a question you should be asking yourself! What is happiness? When have I been happy? I think I can count those moments on my fingers. The first time I remember feeling something strangely warm inside of me was when Dobby had given me that small violin. Does that count as happiness? It cannot, I guess…because it was so damnably short! I don't want happiness if it is always that short. I prefer always having that cold feeling inside my chest, as it pains to feel yourself all warmed up inside, and the next instant to have that feeling snatched away from you; to feel as if your insides have been scratched by particularly sharp nails._

_I still remember the excited and wonder-filled eyes of the Muggle-borns when they first entered Hogwarts. Even though they were nervous, they did seem thrilled and happy to be there. Granger's eyes were literally popping out of her head from so much awestruck staring, and even so, she could not help pointing out things she had read from the school textbooks. Pity them Muggle-borns who have not experienced magic until they are eleven and admitted into a wizarding school!_

_The level of magic they taught us at school this year was piteously ordinary and uncomplicated! They do not really allow you to experience all kinds of magic, and become great wizards in that school with all those stupid restrictions!_

_On the other hand, it was the first time I was away from home, away from being doted upon by Mother, and that was probably the only plus point of staying at Hogwarts! Not that I don't relish being back. It is just that I have wanted to know how it would feel not to be at the centre of a family or not being inside a cocoon. And now I know how it feels. If I thought it was somewhat lonely as I grew up, this year at Hogwarts has strangely drained me. I cannot help noticing things that disturb me._

_Friendships and laughter blooming everywhere… _

_I've sometimes caught myself wondering how it would have been if I had been in sorted in Gryffindor, instead. Would I have had friends who would have appreciated me for who I am?_

_Uhhggg…Gosh, no way, get a hold on yourself, Draco! Self pity does not suit a Malfoy! You are way better off in Slytherin if you do not want yourself to transform into the pathetic scum such as Potty and Weasel. Indeed, it is great fun taunting Weasley with being beggar poor! Ha… Watching his face turn scarlet and his ears tomato red are always worth the effort of wasting time speaking to him! As for Potty, he does not react as recklessly as Weasel, but it is worth seeing him discomfited when I taunt him about having no proper family and having to live with those Muggle relatives of his! I can understand why he reacts less hotheadedly._

_Indeed, having a family does not always mean warmth, even though the members of that family love each other. Hold on there… What is happening to you, Draco? What is this thing about warmth, love and being understanding? Since when have you become so nauseatingly cheesy? Obviously, Hogwarts is going to make you crazy! Hopefully you won't end up at St. Mungo's soon, because you are clearly not thinking straight! _

_Damn. Damn. Damn._

_You've got to be yourself, Draco. You've got to be your conceited, holier-than-thou self, and look down upon those blood traitors and Muggle-borns! This is how your father expects you to be! This is the way you have been raised, and this is who you are! _

_A pure-blood. _

_And for Merlin's sake, stop humming, "Never had no one ever" to yourself! _

_Inexcusable._

_Close this diary and go to bed. Have you not noticed that when you are writing, you always tend to jot down things you won't even admit to yourself? Quite dangerous, but also very revealing! You really do not dare know what is in the dark depth of this head of yours now, do you?_

_Ha, I guess not! Besides, with a little bit of luck, I will be in Cornwall on my own soon, but first, I have to take care of Dobby. I have to leave no stone unturned in order to make that elf leave and seek a much better life elsewhere._

_So, diary, this is farewell. Until another, hopefully more fun-filled, year at Hogwarts, Adieu & Goodbye! _

**Another year passed for Draco at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

Draco Malfoy came back to Malfoy Manor after his second year at Hogwarts. His parents were currently away visiting some relatives back in Scotland and Draco refused to go. He preferred to have some time on his own. In fact, he was used to having so much time on his own that he was quite reluctant to change that state of affairs. He now sat on a sofa downstairs in the main hall, watching the rain coat the glass panes looking out on the garden. He wore black jeans and a pale blue shirt, with the top two buttons open at the neck to reveal a G-Clef pendant that he almost never took off. The lovely flower garden was gently draped in mists; mists that reflected in Draco's striking silver-grey eyes with the cobalt hues. For the first time, he had brought his diary out of his room.

And Malfoy Manor was as lonely as ever, with Dobby gone too.

Dobby, the now free elf.

He had finally succeeded in making Dobby realize that even house-elves deserved happiness - even if the meaning of that word remained somewhat elusive to Draco. Draco had been so relentlessly nasty and cruel to Dobby when he had been on vacation after his first year. Dobby had finally broken free. The house-elf probably hated him as well. And yet another being added to the ever growing list of those who hated him, thought Draco.

Hatred from others was his due, it seemed. Not that it bothered him. He could never care less about what others thought of him.

Draco opened his diary and started writing.

_Another year has passed, and I'm back at home. Another peculiar year, and again, it has not gone as I would have wanted it too! Still, I guess that is what makes life interesting. Indeed, it is the unexpected that makes life interesting, but it seems as if it is making me more and more miserable. I cannot pinpoint why, and I cannot even show it. _

_No, Draco Malfoy cannot dare show any kind of weakness._

_I have made it into Slytherin's Quidditch team, and Father, who was still on Hogwarts' Board of Governors at the start of the year, insisted on gifting the new Nimbus 2001 to all of the team, even though such a gesture would naturally pass as if he was trying to buy me a place on the team; as Granger so quickly pointed out. I dare think I made it on the team due to my skills, but I cannot even be sure now. I had tried to stop Father from doing such a thing, but he refused point blank. He probably had no trust in my skills. Still, why did Granger have to meddle in matters which were of no concern to her? Whether I taunt Potty or Weasel is no business of hers!_

_She interfered. I fought back. _

_Called her "Mudblood" to her face, and Weasel was so enraged, he shouted a hex from his damaged wand which backfired on him. I even dropped on the grass laughing. It was very comical to some extent, but some of my laughter was forced nevertheless. Patting the grass in uncontrollable mirth was acting. I did not want to call Granger the vile word "Mudblood". It is such a relief she is Muggle-born, in fact! She did not even seem to understand what I had called her and, at first, only seemed confused by the belligerent tone I had adopted. And I've used the word so often this year that she now probably feels the awful connotation behind that word. Maybe it serves her right for still trailing with Potty and Weasel. Granger, if you know what is right for you, stay away from those two dumb heads! For some reason, I cannot help myself taunting Granger whenever she is with those two friends of hers!_

_Using the foul word "Mudblood" a lot is in-keeping with my image. Mudblood Granger, Granger Mudblood! Undoubtedly, that is only what can be expected from bad blood Draco, even if I had to stop myself from cringing when I first uttered it! Indeed, I remember Hagrid's words at the start of the year, back in the shop where that silly fool Gilderoy Lockhart was having his books signed! Father had had a tiff with Weasel's father, and Hagrid had intervened to pick Arthur Weasley up. Father was already out of the store and, as I followed him, I did happen to catch Hagrid's words:_

"_Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that — no Malfoy's worth listenin' ter — bad blood, that's what it is..."_

_I should not have overheard that sentence. It is as if it engraved in my mind. I know that Hagrid is not the only one who thinks so, but the others are too stupidly virtuous to voice out what they think. And Father's money benefits loads of them._

_Hagrid is right, evidently - none of the Malfoys are worth listening to! Our blood is black and has turned bad because father had once been a Death Eater. Prejudices die hard it seems, and it is not easy to trust! _

_Rotten. I'm rotten to the core. And if those people have any sense in them, they would listen to Hagrid's words!_

_Granger, if she is really that clever, she'll know what not to pay attention to. _

_Granger, with that bushy head of hair! She is not exactly gorgeous, but she can be cute when she wants to be. Gosh, Draco, what are you saying, for Merlin's sake?_

'_Granger' and 'cute' in the same sentence? _

_Are you certain you are feeling alright? No! No! She is not cute! I hate her when she acts so conspiratorially with Potty and Weasley. Nonetheless, there is some kind of warmth radiating from her and extending to all of her friends. I wonder how it would feel to be encompassed by that warmth…_

_And she looks at me with those big brown, disapproving eyes!_

_Granger. Mudblood Granger. What would you think now if you knew I was writing about you, and even wrote that you were cute! But you'll never know. I will never tell you. I will only taunt you, be cruel to you, and bring out the worst of hatred from you. This is what is expected of me!_

_The three of them have been heroes yet again! Weasel and Granger helped Potty in slaughtering the monster from the Chamber of Secrets. Such great, courageous heroes, applaud them, love them, and bestow even more glory upon them. Once more, I know that the exploits of those three are not going to end here! This time, however, even my father was implicated- only, he was the villain._

_He had planted Riddle's diary among the books of that Weasley girl, causing her to be possessed by whatever was in that diary! Father has been sacked from the Board of Governors! A real shame. It still fails me why he did so, and whenever I ask for explanations, he always evades my questions. Something is not quite right here. I need to know what!_

_It wasn't true, of course, when I confessed to Crabbe and Goyle that I wanted Granger killed by the Slytherin monster. However, I only realised that it wasn't what I wanted when I learned about her being attacked, for real. I'm supposed to be hating Muggle-borns! Why is it that it got me worried to hear that Granger had been Petrified? She is not even my friend, thankfully! I never showed that it got me the tiniest bit worried, though._

_I suppose that I just felt a bit guilty to have my words partly come true. Nobody knows that I waited in the Slytherin common room for everyone to go to bed, and then stole up to the hospital wing in the middle of the night to see her. She made a sorry figure with those listless, staring eyes, and that rigid pose. At that time, I was having strange ideas about trying to save her in some way. Then, I heard footsteps; it was probably that of Madame Pomfrey's, and I had to hurry back. In the end, the Slytherin monster was defeated, and Granger came back to her normal, annoying self!_

_I'm supposed to be a villainous character back at Hogwarts. I admit that if ever I happen to meet someone like myself, I would probably have jinxed the latter to the point of unconsciousness! I mustn't come across as someone very pleasant to most of the students! What do I care, though? Whether I am hated or not leaves me indifferent! It is certainly better to be despised than be fawned over by a bunch of brainless fools…_

_And that Dobby! Even if I'm glad that the wretched elf is now free, it was from Potter that he sought help from! Couldn't he have found someone else? At least Potter had some wits hidden in that scarred head and was able to trick my father into freeing Dobby! Father was quite enraged, but at least someone from Malfoy Manor will be experiencing happiness._

_Dobby, I wish you all the best in life. And for the first time in my life, I'm apologizing for the harsh way I've been treating you. But it was for your own good, little elf! You are free now! I despise myself a bit more, but everything was worth it. Maybe you would never know that I had the broken pieces of the small violin transfigured into the wooden G clef pendant I now wear. You will probably never know that I've always valued you; so much that I hated the way you were treated, and hated myself even more for not having engineered some way or another for freeing you even before all this time. _

_It does not matter. You are a free elf now, and you can tell everyone that you are free. If there is one good thing Harry Potter ever did in his life, it is helping to free Dobby. _

_And if there is one wrong I, Draco, have ever done in this world, it was causing Dobby so much hurt. _

_Goodbye, Dobby, little brother, little playmate. Thank you for the violin. I hope you never have to come back to Malfoy Manor again! This place has given you nothing but misery and pain…_

_So, Diary, this is farewell. Until another year, from Draco, it is Adieu & Goodbye._

…

**End Notes:** There you are! Read the next chapters if you want to know why Draco will not be using a Conjunctivitis Curse on you for having peeped into his diary...! I think I'm right in saying that it is a spell he does not favour that much! Why is that?


	3. Chapter 2:The Cliffs of Cornwall

**Chapter 2: **** A Visit to the Cliffs of Cornwall**

_**There are days where the sun shines bright**_

_**And everything feels right**_

_**Days, untouched by the shadow of sadness**_

_**And when one's worries are put to rest**_

_**They are the days that one never wants to end**_

_**But they are also like fine sand**_

_**They are the days with the shortest lives**_

_**Leaving melancholy in their emptied hives…**_

_**After Draco's 3**__**rd**__** Year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**_

Draco sat on a rock outcrop at the very edge of a set of steep cliffs in Cornwall. This place was his favourite holiday haunt. Just about thirty metres behind him, on the rocks, was an old and crumbling mansion. Purple, pink, golden yellow, and red bougainvilleas had been allowed to run wild on the facades of the abandoned remains of what must have once been a beautiful house.

The mansion only had a small section of its roof still in place, whilst the whitewashed walls had become grayish green with time. In that sheltered part of the otherwise open air haunt, were the paintings, brushes and palettes that still dripped with colour. A yet unfinished painting could be seen hovering in the air alongside the brushes and palettes. The incomplete painting showed the magnificent eyes of a Hippogriff. Even if magic was not allowed to be done outside Hogwarts by underage wizards, enchanted supplies were something that anyone could possess.

Those supplies had been obtained from _Master Mariner Paints & Brush_, which was a store in Clifton Alley. Clifton Alley was a street that was entirely devoted to the world of drawings and paintings; something that suited Draco, since he could buy his equipments without being seen by his fellow Hogwarts friends. The latter usually confined their shopping to Diagon Alley.

As the splendid, azure waves crashed against the rocks, fine drops of sea spray fell onto Draco's face, and he sighed deeply before smiling, enjoying the fabulous day. Even if there was some pain in his heart, it seemed as if the sunshine filled morning, and the lovely, cloudless blue sky were conspiring to alleviate some of that bittersweet ache. For a second time that year, he wished for time to stop…

The cliffs ran for at least a good kilometer on either side of him - majestic and breathing with life - before finally giving way to beautiful, hidden sandy coves. Draco watched as a seagull strutted off from its nest in an outcrop and deploying its white wings, soared up in the sky before scooping down to the deep, blue sea, looking for fish.

Draco could not know it, but back at Malfoy Manor, the Lighthouse painting on his wall was showing dolphins and whales that were happily cruising in the sea and doing back flips. The little blond-haired figure with the wooden violin was looking about him avidly and soaking up the glorious sunshine. Three seagulls could be seen sitting on the lighthouse railing next to the boy in the picture, and they were seemingly having a merry conversation.

Sighing again, Draco opened his diary at a blank page and retrieved his long, black swan feathered quill from the first page of the diary. The quill was one that had been magicked to appear as an image on the first page, and once the wizard opened his diary, he could at a touch cause the picture of the quill to materialize in his hand.

"Hello, Diary! And yet another year! Missed me?" Draco asked the night black diary jokingly. The diary glowered like smouldering coals in answer to his query, and let a little pink heart bubble escape.

"Ha. You can't have, you are just a set of lifeless pages that have been enchanted!" Draco derided slightly, amused as the diary glowered ever more, turning blazing red before utterly stilling in his lap. A little puff of black smoke floated away from it in indignation.

"Offended, aren't you?" Draco laughed as he started writing.

_Diary, why does it feel as if time is flying away? This time, I managed to convince my parents to let me spend some of my holidays on my own. Father and Mother are making a trip to France this year. Father was of the idea that I am, indeed, old enough to spend some time on my own; even if Mother was not very happy about that. There was no need to pretend I was going off somewhere with Crabbe and Goyle, thankfully!_

_Ever since I've been back at home, the atmosphere in the house has been gloomier than usual; even somewhat cranky. There have been Death Eater-related whispers in the house, although I'm not included in the hushed talks between Mother and Father! I know, of course, that thirteen years ago, Father had been a Death Eater._

_How do I feel about that? Well, he was old enough to choose the side he wanted, and I think he made the right choice. It gives me chills to think of myself associating with the saintly Potters and the likes. Voldemort has been a great wizard in his time; better even than Gellert_ _Grindelwald. I remember Father talking about Dumbledore's famous wizard duel with the latter. If Dumbledore had been truly that great, he doesn't look so now. Looks like an old bag of bones who can hardly hold his wand, if you ask me. How is he going to fight if the Dark Lord comes back?_

_But there can be no chance of Voldemort returning, could there? Well, if he does return, Father would certainly go back to being a Death Eater. And then…if I had been in Voldemort's place, I wouldn't have liked the way Lucius Malfoy was so quick to come on the other side after the former's destruction years ago._

_Still, Voldemort could not have expected to have followers after he, himself, had proved how easily thwarted he could be! Ha, destroyed by kiddie Potter. That doesn't tell much about him. I, certainly, would not be the follower of a supposed great wizard who, laughingly, had been defeated by a mere child. Regardless of whatever I say in public, Voldemort should be quite shamefaced for having been so defeated! I do hope he does not come back. The supposed Dark Lord is fit for the closet of forgotten has-beens._

_Anyway, on another, more exciting subject, I'm so looking forward to the Quidditch World Cup that is going to take place in about three weeks. After that, just a few days would remain before another year at Hogwarts! It would be cool to play Seeker in the England team one day! It is not the same as playing against the pitiable houses of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw! Feel like it's a waste of time showing off my talent over there! I just let Potter think he is so very good. It is, indeed, quite fun to let them think they are above everyone else when I know I never play to my full potential! Why do so, when observing them provides the source for so much entertainment at their expense? I know that I come across as a high and mighty bastard at school, but I just feel that Hogwarts is not the place to showcase my talents!_

_At least I can afford to show off my boasting abilities, duh._

_And they are the better fools for not being able to enjoy it as much as I do!_

_Already three years have passed away since I first came to Hogwarts, and so much has happened. This year, the Azkaban escapee, Sirius Black, was on the scene. He is Potty's godfather, and he strangely disappeared and so did Buckbeak, the Hippogriff! Strangely, for the rest of Hogwarts that is, whilst I happen to know that Sirius disappeared on Buckbeak! _

_Buckbeak and Hagrid; the reason why Granger slapped me…I can almost feel a tingle across my face! She doesn't look it, but she is incredibly strong, that little wench._

_Buckbeak is an innocent, even if it was my overacting that triggered the whole death sentence saga on the creature. Provoking Buckbeak in front of the class, and Granger was just another thing to further the haughty image they already have of me._

_Admittedly, it was a nice distraction. It is not so bad to have people fuss over you!_

_Little did I know that Crabbe and Goyle would be only too happy to report to my father about the incident! Father did not waste time to act and call upon sanctions without even feeling the need to consult me. He was very surprised when I intervened on Buckbeak's behalf, explaining that it was I who caused the incident in the first place. Contempt was all I got! Pure-blood wizards of the Malfoy's ilk are not supposed to be going around sporting pity on worthless creatures. Could he be right, I wonder?_

_Man, supposedly, has dominion over all other non-human creatures. It will be lying if I said that I hold that view to be completely true. Man does not have dominion, but can only play the role of a privileged caretaker. Those who think otherwise can only have an inflated sense of their own importance! They just do not realise how tiny Planet Earth is! I think that to believe that man has a hold on anything whatsoever is to deceive oneself! _

_Father was the first to inform me that the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures had decided to execute Buckbeak. I felt so bad, I cannot begin to describe it. There had to be a way to save the animal. We had the Care of Magical Creatures class and I saw Hagrid there. The big loaf was truly in a bad shape, sharing his sorrows with Granger and her worthless friends. I did stay with Crabbe and Goyle to listen to what Hagrid had to say, and the golden trio heard me calling Hagrid 'pathetic'. Well, if he was not being pathetic, was he being Hercules? How could he be so big and so easily accept such a fate for an animal he obviously loved! He should have had the courage to put on a fight._

_Tears never saved anyone._

_Granger wasn't very happy, though…and then…the slap…_

_And then, I was not very happy._

_She hardly knew that I was devising my own plan to help Buckbeak. Later on, I had gone to look where the execution, if given a go ahead - and knowing Father's influence - would have taken place. There had to be a way to smuggle the animal away; to save it; especially when it was I who had stupidly, and with a lack of foresight, caused the incident. I had known the Hippogriff would react badly to the taunt, and I expected the retaliation that came with it._

_In some crooked way, it was a way to entertain myself. I failed to foresee the dreadful consequences that had followed. And that silly Hippogriff! Couldn't it really, for once, have played at the game of dangerous beasts and escaped from humans' hold on it? I heard that sometimes executions were not able to go ahead because the creatures were just too dangerous to approach. That stupid Buckbeak was clearly way too soft!_

_I despise executions! Somebody tell me, when has death ever solved anything?_

_Wizards, too, are so asinine at times. They even have that purposeless Committee to decide on the fate of the animals! Damn them for always trying to find the easiest way out. There are only incompetent idiots running about in that good-for-nothing Ministry! The fact that father can sway the Committee so easily clearly attests to that. _

_Crabbe and Goyle did not understand why I wanted to go see Buckbeak, and they stayed some distance away as I approached the animal for fear they might be injured. No one was around. Hagrid could be heard crying inside of his hut. It is a paradox how big giants often have the softest of hearts and are the most vulnerable ones. Quite a sissy he is! Could he not come up with some idea with that big, useless head of his, instead of sitting around and crying? Really pathetic!_

_Buckbeak was tethered to some wooden stake outside Hagrid's cottage. Such a shame! I could not risk Hagrid coming out. He hates me and he has good reason to. I'm not particularly fond of him myself. He is also a great supporter of Potty, and he'll hate anyone who refuses to bow in front of pitiful scarhead!_

_As I approached the creature, Buckbeak looked at me with those wise eyes, recognizing the person who had insulted it. And I kept looking at it, trying to convey to it that I would find a way to extricate him, silently. It was a strange feeling that I got then. I felt as if this creature in front of me was not going to die anytime soon; even though a death sentence was impending on it._

_I could say that Buckbeak, somehow, knew that it was not destined to die by having its head cut off. Why, I wondered, had the Hippogriff conveyed that feeling to me? Indeed, hadn't I offended it and been responsible for the plight it found itself in? I have never had an animal other than my eagle owl, and even if Sirin and I can communicate wordlessly, I have never really given a serious thought to this. The reassurance that Buckbeak would not die floated into the air like a warm feather and touched my forehead. It quite stunned me at that moment. It made me feel so queer, and oddly something akin to relief flooded me. Still, I couldn't rely on that heartening feeling. I had to do something, but I couldn't quite figure out what. _

_And then the day of the execution came! I was prepared to do anything to save Buckbeak; ready to stop Macnair, the executioner, from delivering the fatal blow. I did not care whether that meant shrugging off the gutless and malicious Malfoy pretense! Hurrying to the grounds, I saw Granger, Potty and Weasel materialize out of nowhere. They were making their way back to the castle. My suspicion that they had an invisibility cloak was confirmed then. I had had my doubts with the mud throwing incident near the Shrieking Shack! Potty still has not paid for throwing mud at me. He will someday._

_Seeing them, I quickly skulked out of the way. I couldn't believe they would have let the execution go ahead, but I impatiently waited in the shadows for them to get away so that I could get to Hagrid's cottage. I was even more shocked when I saw Potty, who had just passed me a few moments ago, come out of the forbidden forest to detach Buckbeak._

_It was then that I figured how they did it! The Time-Turner, of course! The golden trio, once again, played the heroes as they saved both Buckbeak and, to my astonishment, they even helped Sirius Black escape. It was not difficult to figure out that Black must have been freed from guilt in their eyes! They are the righteous bunch; they would not have let a criminal escape._

_It was sheer relief seeing the Hippogriff fly to safety. I would have had to drop the typical Malfoy-ish antics and rush to the cottage to save Buckbeak if those three, addicted to play the heroes, hadn't given way to their addiction. It turned out that Buckbeak's feeling that it would not have died then was true. _

_Granger can do anything it seems! She shows no sign of wizening up, though; still hanging about with the two other twerps._

_Brought my lips to hers, this year, in the old, abandoned tower._

_Damn, that sounds like a line from a dramatic play! Cheesy, cheesy, Draco; not up to your usual standards! Nonetheless, I do have some talent for writing. Being the editor of some cool magazine does not seem such a bad choice after Hogwarts. Not just any magazine. I would like to have my own publication, and there would certainly be not an ounce of gossip about Potty head in it! However, I guess I can find a little place to inform the people about Weasley's sudden passing away, were that to happen. Not that anyone would be interested in that idiot's death! It would be for my own sheer pleasure!_

_Exceptionally, I suppose the magazine could feature Granger on a regular basis! She has the talents to accomplish many exploits in the future._

_At that time, in the tower, Granger was scared off her wits, but...as we talked, I think she warmed up to me. It is her silly, big heart that drags her in situations where she is constantly running the danger of breaking her neck! _

_But, I made her forget about me. It was the 'Obliviate' spell that did the trick. It is not a spell that can be easily broken. Its effect can only wear off when the situation that has been forgotten, somehow, reenacts itself in a similar manner in front of the person who has been put under the spell. It is only then that the latter will come out of it. And there is no way that I'm planning to accomplish such a feat again. _

_It is better this way, it is better we keep our distances. I am supposed to be the craven and hateful Malfoy; not a distasteful character in a love triangle. Indeed, it is clear Granger is warming up more and more towards that Weasley. I would not put up with Weasel as a rival. He cannot stand up to me, and if he is Granger's choice, she is quite welcome to him._

_It is needless to say that I do not deserve that girl._

_But I can't help my eyes that constantly turn in her direction, even though she hardly pays any attention to me; focused as she is on helping Potty and his Parasite. He is always hurting her, that leech._

_I wish I could tell her how I feel without needing to have recourse to a memory charm afterwards!_

_You can't complain, Draco. You are who you are. You can't run from yourself. You can't help yourself if you are not someone to have a confidant, even if you are quite pestered by the Slytherin girls to open up to them. Another crazy bunch those girls are. And Pansy! She is becoming more and more annoying every year! _

_No one matters, though, no one._

_Granger should not matter too. But for some reason, she does. Why should it have been her? Why should she have been a Muggle-born? Why the heck should she have been a Gryffindor? Why the heck should she have been friends with those two dimwits? If she had been in Slytherin, maybe it would have been both of us who would have come together and saved the Hippogriff… It would have been an explosive team! And, if I had that invisibility cloak, what wouldn't I have to done to her under it…_

_Just not meant to be, I guess._

_I wonder if she has ever been on a broom on a full moon night. She does not seem very fond of Quidditch, but she would have come to love flying on a broom, and fit the stereotypical image Muggles have of witches on brooms! She would have made a fine-looking witch on that broom, flying in the night sky, and she would not have been alone. I would have sat just behind her, guiding her. What wouldn't I give to lose myself in her hair…forever!_

_Forever is a long time, but, with her, maybe it would not be enough… I don't understand why I feel this way with her. I just know that where Granger is concerned, the feelings I have for her would not be assuaged anytime soon. I don't even know from where such a deep conviction stems from! It could be that I am another one with the "un-Malfoy-ish" genes, who knows? At any rate, the thoughts I'm having are quite typical of a hormone-crazed teenager! Anyway, I never said that my vocation was to become some kind of priest! I might consider it, though, were Granger to become a nun! _

_There you go again with those silly thoughts! It's a pity what are written in wizard diaries cannot be erased! The diaries have a permanent writing charm on them, and in order to destroy the writings, the diary would have to be thrown in fire._

_Damn you, Draco! Are you being disgustingly love sick? It is no use writing about this, you're only hurting yourself more… Had you not been a Malfoy, maybe…_

_No, Malfoys have standards! They don't go around pining for a stupid, blind girl! And a Muggle-born at that! You've got some serious rethinking to do, Draco. Don't lose yourself in the fatal illusions of that base feeling! You might truly end up like some tragic hero in a drama; rather, tragic villain would be more fitting._

_Yes, better to change the subject!_

_I saw a Small People couple some hours ago on a cliff ledge. They are truly tiny, and they sat in their fragrant garden of sea-pinks, sipping some potion in tiny cups. I could hear a most beautiful music, and smell some heady perfume wafting from their garden. Lucky them! Sitting with the person you love and holding her hands should have been the simplest of things… _

_Muggles cannot hear that enticing music or smell that perfume, but wizards can. Long ago, even Muggles could see them, but they were afraid if they let themselves be enthralled by this outlandish phenomenon, that it could have proven fatal to them._

_So, little by little, the Cornish populace lost the ability to spot the Small People. Muggles, nowadays, do not believe that those little folks exist. That is why they deserve contempt for being so blinded!_

_When you lose the ability to believe, you also lose the ability to see and experience…_

_There you are, I've loosened my heart unto you, Diary. I'll see you next year, if I survive._

_I don't know why, but I am not having a very good feeling about the coming year. But then, when have I ever looked forward to going to Hogwarts? I should have gone to Durmstrang Institute like Father wanted. There, they indeed teach the Dark Arts instead of mere defense. That subject does not deserve the pejorative connotation it has._

_As the name suggests, it is an art, and if used well, can make great wizards. The greatest wizards have been masters in the Dark Arts. It should have been simple logic that when you know how to cast a hex properly, you will also learn how to counter it better! Learning defense without having experienced the attack makes no sense whatsoever! _

_Anyway, I have a painting to finish ,and after that I'm jumping off the cliff for a long, refreshing swim!_

_It is Adieu & Goodbye from your Stupendous Master!_

…

**End Notes: **_Draco is growing up fast. Look forward to the next chapter if you want to know how he lived through his fourth and fifth year at Hogwarts...What will he be writing in his diary? Suffice to say that when there was the Goblet of Fire, the Goblet of Despair went unnoticed..._


	4. Chapter 3: The Cup of Despair I

**After a fourth year spent at Hogwarts**

_**The fine sands of Sleep stayed away**_

_**On this lonely night**_

_**Bustling thoughts were fruitlessly trying to find a quay**_

_**Far from Despair's plight**_

_**The latter was one of the roughest seas**_

_**Even the most courageous of men sailed away from**_

_**Indeed, sailing in it was not a breeze**_

_**As countless times before, it slashed Joy's bosom**_

Once more, Draco was drenched in the silence of Malfoy Manor. It was past midnight, and his parents had long since retired to bed. He sat sprawled on the middle steps of the large, antique wooden staircase with the beautiful cast iron baluster; his blond head touched the steps behind him. Just in front of him, on the landing, was a stained glass window depicting the impressive dragon, Lydian Hydras, in his dying glory; the same dragon that was on the family crest.

Draco's silver-grey eyes with the eerie splashes of deep blue were focused on the candle-lit, crystal chandelier decorating the ceiling of the landing. Another flight of the spiral stairs led down to the spacious living room. His parents' room was on the ground floor, whilst he had the first floor entirely for himself. The Malfoys had always been rich.

Draco found sleep elusive this particular night. In fact, he had not been able to sleep well ever since he had been back from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He could not switch his mind off, it seemed, for all kinds of thoughts were running around in his head over and over again. It was enough to drive anyone crazy. He forced his mind away from the dark thoughts and found himself reflecting on Lydian.

Lydian, who had died because he had dared give in to the weakness of love. Voldemort, too, had been reduced to a wretched state after having been defeated by a power he could not understand; love. In both cases, love had proven to be the cause of their downfalls. However, Lydian had had the power to save himself, but he had chosen death, whilst Voldemort chose to return. Lydian had let himself be destroyed completely, but Voldemort, not so.

Had Lydian deserved what he got? After all, he had killed the family of the witch he had fallen in love with! His soul had been tainted; how could he possibly have expected to live a happy life? And were his descendants condemned to suffer the sins he had been responsible for? If the Malfoys were the descendants of Lydian Hydras, weren't they also the descendants of that innocent witch? But the witch had in turn exacted revenge by killing Hydras. That might explain why the Malfoys, from one generation to the other, have always had a murky cloud over their heads. Indeed, Draco does not remember when he had once laughed out of sheer heart-warming happiness. That might never have happened. It might not happen at all in his lifetime.

Draco sighed, watching the candles flicker in the chandelier. There was an uneasy, suffocating feeling in his chest that he could not quite get rid of. He slowly got up to his feet, tall and very handsome. He had not changed into his sleeping clothes yet and was still clad in his black jeans and black shirt. Draco combed his fingers through his blond hair as he climbed up the spiral stairs.

As was the case whenever he was home, the glass pane separating the balcony from his room was opened wide. Gusts of wind swept inside his room, battering the fire at the hearth. Sirin's head turned as she looked at the attractive, but distraught, teenager that had come inside. The lovely eagle owl was poised on the crystal table where Draco's school materials lay. Draco could feel the warm, affectionate vibes emanating from his pet, and he walked across the room, drawing the chair to sit at his table. He lifted his hand to pat Sirin's head, and the eagle owl nipped at his hand fondly.

Draco stared at the night black diary that was still unopened on the table. He had taken it out from behind the Lighthouse painting hours ago, but had not brought himself to write in it yet. Indeed, to be able to write, he would have to blank his mind first, and then let the words flow from deep inside of him. However, right now, he could not quite achieve that. He could not quite block the thoughts that were racing in his head. Writing his thoughts down was something of an exorcism for him. If he did not write and bare his mind on paper, he often felt as if his thoughts would destroy him. Since he was not the kind to confide in friends, his diary fulfilled that role.

Getting up abruptly, Draco walked to the sliding glass pane and closed it. He had never been sensitive to the cold, but the chilly night air seemed to be getting to him. The fire at the hearth at once ceased flickering harshly and now cackled languidly in the stillness of the room. Draco sat back down at his table and opened his diary.

_It has not really been a great year, Diary. I feel somewhat messed up inside of me. I do not really know from where to begin. But as they say, when you are in doubt, look at the source of things. So, I think it best to start from the very beginning, a few days before my fourth year at Hogwarts. _

_I remember writing down the last time how excited I was that the Quidditch World Cup was going to start soon. Well, I did go to the World Cup alongside my parents. We sat with Cornelius Fudge, and I even had the opportunity to boast in front of the Weasleys. The bunch usually expect jibes from me, and it would have seemed unusual if I didn't gratify their expectations; only then would their happy little world appear normal._

_And Granger was with them too. Oh, I better leave that subject till later._

_But then, after the celebrations, something happened. People started panicking, and Muggles were being attacked. Father was getting truly distressed. He kept rubbing at his hands and would not answer my questions. He wanted us to hurry home as fast as possible, but I happened to see a small Muggle child who had been bewitched to hang in the air about a hundred metres away. Nobody was really paying attention to her. I just dashed in her direction. It was bizarre but I did not really think about what I was doing. _

_In the fray, I lost sight of both Father and Mother. The place was real chaos - tents were on fire, and people were screaming and stampeding all over the place. The Dark Mark had appeared in the sky._

_I jumped and reached out to the terrified child. Her Muggle parents ran in my direction and snatched her from me before making for the woods. The Ministry would have some troubles putting memory charms on all those Muggles, I thought at that time._

_I knew that Death Eaters, back in the times of Voldemort, used to cast the Dark Mark in the sky, but I first thought it could have been a prank of someone. There was no way Voldemort could have returned. But then I saw the dark hooded individuals swooshing around the place. They had to be Death Eaters, and they would not only be after Muggles but Muggle-borns as well. _

_Granger's face flashed into my mind then. I remembered seeing her with the Weasleys and Potter. They would be able to protect her, but still, I wanted to make sure she was alright. Just then, I spotted them looking distraught and not really understanding what was happening._

_It was time to act again. With a beating heart, I leaned against a tree to fake nonchalance as I tried warning them. They did not acknowledge it, but I succeeded in cautioning them! They would not take the risk of hanging there when they had Granger with them._

_There were more Muggles being attacked, but I was not given any opportunity to intervene, even stealthily, as Father snatched one of my arms and that of mother's as we returned home via a Portkey._

_It was the first time I had seen Father that anxious. I knew there was something on his mind that he was not willing to tell me. I was pretty damn sure it had to do with the Death Eaters. I was ordered to my room as he and Mother retired to their own room. I could hear them talk in lively tones, but then the sounds suddenly became muted. It was very likely that Father had put a 'Mutendo' spell on the room so that no sound escaped._

_In the morning after the World Cup incident, I tried asking Father if he knew something, but he avoided the question by telling me about the Triwizard Tournament that was going to take place that year. I did not press the matter with him as it seemed to distress him even more. _

_And then, the summer holidays came to an end, and I went back to Hogwarts. The school welcomed the Triwizard champions and a queer individual had appeared on the scene - Alastor Moody; at least, everybody was fooled into thinking that it was the Professor Moody and not Barty Crouch Jr. as everybody later learned._

_Even as Dumbledore introduced him, many could tell there was something not quite right with the guy; never mind his rotating, all-seeing eye. I hated him, but I'll come to that later._

_First, our dear foe Potter was chosen as a Triwizard champion! As much as I believe him to be a stupid show off, I still believed he could not have willingly put his name in the cup as the tournament was a very dangerous one, and he was still not of the required age to participate. It was immediately obvious that the other stupid head, Weasley, did not trust his friend when the latter explained to him that he had not put his name there. There was silly Weasley flashing his insecurities to everyone!_

_It was quite intriguing, and if not clear to others, clear to me that somebody was after Potter's skin. Nonetheless, Potter being chosen by the cup gave us, in Slytherin, another source of entertainment. Ah, the badge 'Support Cedric Diggory', and when tapped flashing 'Potter Stinks'. It was all for a good laugh, really!_

_Had to be nasty to Granger, of course. It did not give me any pleasure; it never has, but that too, is expected from Malfoy. Insult Granger, and lower yourself in her eyes to the point that she ends up not giving you any importance anymore; to the point you become merely an unpleasant git with no power to hurt._

_And then, there was the first of the three "taches", as the girls from Beauxbaton say. The first task was one involving dragons. I loathed it. I hate seeing animals used for the silly entertainment of wizards! The dragons were chained and had to protect eggs. Krum, the Durmstrang champion, used a Conjunctivitis Curse on the unfortunate animal. I would have sworn aloud at him if I did not hear Hagrid shouting over everybody else against Krum; giving Professor McGonagall a difficult time restraining him. Never thought I would have one thing in common with that big oaf!_

_Mad-Eye Moody came on the scene after that. Potter had dared insulting my mother. It did not really matter to me, for people like Potty do not know how to insult others. Still, I wanted to scare him off with a spell that was purposefully meant to miss him. Just then, that despicable Mad-Eye came on the scene. There I was, towering over many of the students, and a second later, I was at eye level with the green grass and being bounced up and down for the amusement of others!_

_I dimly registered that I had been transfigured by Mad-Eye, and then, McGonagall intervened. Moody had had to return me to my human form. If that is what it feels to be a ferret, I think I'd sympathise with that specie the rest of my life._

_I don't think I've ever felt as humiliated as I had been then. It did not matter that everybody was laughing; even the Slytherins were having difficulties hiding their giggles. But I did see Granger smile. It made me even more furious and mortified. The pain was nothing. _

_At the next opportunity I got, Potty and I fired hexes at each other but as they connected in the air, misfired. Mine had, unwittingly, hit Granger. Pansy was laughing like mad. It took me all my determination not to rush over to Hermione! I was not amused the least bit. In the end, she was okay, just a bit shaken and had to go to Madame Pomfrey's to have her teeth returned to normal. I did not like seeing her in tears!_

_Then came the Yule Ball. Granger was magnificent. It did not surprise me, but I was momentarily lost for words. Even if she was Muggle-born, she had always seemed cute to me. This time, even her friends acknowledged how breathtaking she truly is. I tried to get rid of Pansy whenever I could and stayed in the shadows, watching Granger dance with the dunce, Krum. It was the first time I experienced real jealousy. Weasel did not seem very happy either, and in the end managed to upset Granger who clearly would have wished Weasel to accompany her._

_She seemed to have truly forgotten about me. It was also the first time I was regretting the use of the 'Obliviate' spell. _

_Pity I did not have a Time-Turner… If I did, that night it would have been Granger with me in the old tower, not Pansy. I would have showed shooting stars to Granger, not Pansy. I played the violin for Pansy that night, whilst picturing that it was Hermione with me, in the old, abandoned tower…_

_Pansy is nice enough when she is not being nasty to Muggle-borns! It was an ordinary composition that I made up on the spur of the moment. I guess Pansy was very surprised to know I could play the violin. I had to transfigure a fallen brick into a one in order to be able to do so. Pansy was, indeed, quite ecstatic to have me playing for her; nevermind the unremarkable-ness of the tune in question!_

_Later that night, when Pansy had gone back to sleep, I returned to the derelict tower. I just could not shrug off Granger's face from my mind. To kill time, I started playing; losing all notion of time, as was usually the case whenever I happened to have a violin in hand. When dawn came, I had finished composing a tune - 'Forbidden Escapade'. It is a name fitting enough for the brief but unforgettable moment Granger and I shared about a year ago, on that exact same date, in the same abandoned tower. _

_I wished Granger was with me. But if she had been there, I'm afraid this Draco would not have been brave enough to put another 'Obliviate' spell on her. And then, who was to say Granger would have liked to be with me? She has forgotten about me. She did not feel the love that I'd been feeling - that I am feeling. I've pushed her in Weasel's arms, and for me she will stay a dream, a bittersweet yearning; an unquenchable thirst for something forbidden. However, I'll have to forget about her soon enough. These thoughts in my mind are more dangerous than ever. They'll be even more dangerous for those around me._

_Sometime after the Triwizard champions had been selected, Rita Skeeter, the scoop-hungry Daily Prophet reporter, was approaching students to ask them tidbits of insider information. I did not mind feeding her already voracious appetite for reporting false news. It was all for fun sake, and it was an interesting, insightful exercise. Some day, when I have my own magazine, she will be the type of reporter who will stay forever jobless. She is the type of journalist who makes false news appear spicy whilst real happenings, for her, hold no appeal. That is where she wastes her writing talents; if she happens to have any. She does not seem to understand that real facts, instead of fabricated ones, are the most interesting!_

_In the end, it was no other than clever Granger who figured out that Skeeter was an unregistered Animagus; a beetle! Couldn't resist praising her then, and it caught me off guard. But I quickly disguised what I let slip by making an unfavourable allusion to Cedric Diggory. I knew it was going to end up with me covered in hexes, but I fully deserved that._

_Dead Diggory. Potter gave everyone quite a shock when he came out of the labyrinth with the lifeless body of Cedric Diggory. He was killed on the orders of Voldemort. Potter kept saying that Voldemort had returned. Many would not believe him; anxious as they were not to come out of their comfortable bubbles. _

_I know better._

_Father has rejoined the Death Eaters._

_It came as something of a shock to me. I did not realize the full extent of what it implicated to be a Death Eater. It just seemed something so remote, until our lives changed overnight. Father never talked about his activities as a Death Eater before. However, when I came back from Hogwarts, I had to ask him what happened back in the graveyard where Potter and Diggory had been transported via the tampered Triwizard cup, and what his being a Death Eater truly meant._

_Back at school, I had refused to toast to Diggory's memory because it did not seem the thing to do for me. If Voldemort had returned, it would have meant that Father had joined the ranks of the Death Eaters once again. I was already stained if that was the case, so how could I pretend I could coolly raise my cup in the memory of the dead one? Crabbe and Goyle seemed to misinterpret that as my approval of Diggory's death! They are truly very dense! If I had wanted Cedric killed, why would I have come up with the badge asking people to support Diggory and ditch Potter?_

_Had father seen Diggory being killed? How could he have allowed that to happen? What did being a Death Eater really mean? Why the hell had I contented myself with the knowledge that Dad had been a Death Eater? Why had not I asked him what he used to do under Voldemort's order? Such were the questions that kept churning in my head. How could all of those sitting in that Great Hall accept that one of them had died so easily? It then struck me that I had not asked because I feared the answer. I had to stop living in a bubble as well._

_And the first thing that I asked father when I reached home was how he could have allowed Voldemort to kill Diggory! It was not necessary to ask whether he had joined the Death Eaters. The shadow of fear on his face was enough to confirm what I suspected. Once father started talking, he could not stop. He told me about the horrors he had done when he had been with Voldemort all those years back. The bubble around me disappeared forever, in an excruciating silence._

_Diggory had already been killed even before the Death Eaters had been summoned to Voldemort. But father confessed that, had he been there when Diggory was killed, he would have done nothing to prevent it. That answer devastated me. He explained how once you are a Death Eater, you cannot go to not being one, and nobody ever dares to go against the Dark Lord. Others that had not responded to the call such as Igor Karkaroff would be paying with their lives, he said._

_Father confessed he used to torture Muggles. At that point, I wanted to throw up as he continued with the horrid descriptions. He said he had angered the Dark Lord when he had not responded to the Dark Mark late summer, at the Quidditch World Cup, and Voldemort seemed to hold that against him; alongside the fact that the Malfoys were among the first families to join the other side._

_When he finished, I sat there in shock until Mother came over to me and asked me to regain my room. She said she will not have me implicated in these matters and that I need not think about this. She also warned me not to associate with Muggle-borns and the blood traitors for the umpteenth time._

_I could not say anything. I did not know what to say. I know convincing Father to leave the ranks of the Death Eaters would be futile and stupid. It would be like telling him to write his own death note._

_But what could I do? I did not choose to be born in a family that had once been Death Eaters as they are again now; although it is now very much part of my identity! I disapprove of who Voldemort is and the ignominious things he does, but how could I possibly prevent Father from joining his ranks without Mother and him being at risk of their lives? _

_I feel so bad and powerless. I am very much tempted to join those fighting Voldemort; even if that means associating with despicable Potters and the likes! How dare they complain that their life is difficult when they have the freedom to choose their sides? How can they complain when they are not having to compromise with their conscience by freely fighting against Voldemort? I've always taunted Weasley as being from a wretched family, but at least he is fully behind his family in their stance against Voldemort._

_I am on the wrong side, and the best I can do is fight by staying on the wrong side; helping those against Voldemort stealthily. We'll see how things turn out._

_Until next year, it is Goodbye and Adieu from me._

**End Notes:** It seems to be a downhill trek for Draco where his feelings are concerned...will he survive it?


	5. Chapter 4: The Cup of Despair II

**Chapter 4:**** The Cup of Despair II**

**After Draco's 5****th**** year at Hogwarts, a few days before school started again.**

The stars were twinkling feebly in the night sky, and even if it was summer in England, a chill seemed to hang perpetually in the air. Draco sat on his balcony's railing, uncaring that the intermittent strong gales could upset his precarious balance. He had managed to locate the belt of Orion even if it would have been easier to do so in winter.

The belt consisted of three stars called Alnitak, Alnilam and Mintaka. The Orion constellation contained other stars of course, and one of those was called Bellatrix, just like his aunt. The word _Bellatrix_ was supposed to mean female warrior. The belt of Orion could be used as something of a celestial signpost to locate other constellations and stars. In a straight line from the Orion belt, the brightest star in the night sky, Sirius can be located.

Sirius is part of the Canis Major constellation and is also known as the hunter's dog; the hunter being Orion. How queer that Sirius was an Animagus and could transform into a dog. It was possible that his parents had named him after the star. He himself had been named after the Draco constellation.

Draco could see Sirius shining in the sky, but the Sirius that the wizarding world knew was not shining anymore. Indeed, Sirius had been killed by Voldemort's female warrior, Bellatrix.

Draco had met his aunt, for the first time, a few days ago. There had been a mass Azkaban breakout, and Bellatrix Lestrange once again roamed free. Draco had spent his summer holidays training his mind in Occlumency. He could not bear it to be discovered that the person who he really was, was horrified with all that Bellatrix or Voldemort represented. He could not let his aptitude at the violin, paintings, and his forbidden feelings for Hermione Granger be revealed if a devious Legilimens, such as Bellatrix, tried to penetrate his mind. Indeed, Hermione Granger would have been very much at risk if Bellatrix learned of her nephew's feelings for a Muggle-born.

Draco had also met with Voldemort after Lucius Malfoy had failed to retrieve a prophecy at the Department of Mysteries, found at the Ministry of Magic. The Dark Lord was as repulsive as Draco had imagined; pulsing with evil the same way Draco's head was now pulsing with a sickeningly painful throbbing. Draco knew he should have unburdened himself in his diary, but he could not write beyond the few lines he had jotted down. Thinking about what he had to do was already eating at his mind; reflecting on what he was about to do might make him weak; writing about the mission Voldemort was going to give him soon would make him loath himself to a point he would be unable to come out of.

It was much better to let his demons possess him.

Let the year pass, Draco thought miserably; a year he knew would slither at a tortuously slow pace.

His lovely silver-grey eyes fell on the diary, which lay on the crystal table in his room. Its pages were being eerily turned by the wind. On the last page that he had written, one could read the following words:

_Did a brief comedic stint as member of the preposterous Inquisitorial Squad. Foul Umbridge would have excelled as a Death Eater._

_Father is in Azkaban. Mother hasn't been in great spirits either._

_Father failed to retrieve Voldemort's prophecy and was captured by the members of the Order of the Phoenix._

_The Dark Lord has a mission for me. Rumour has it that the mission is to kill Hogwarts' headmaster, Professor Dumbledore._

_I can't summon the courage to write anymore._

_Adieu, Diary._


	6. Chapter 5: Hallucinations

_Note: I think Draco would agree that you should be warned off from nibbling on snacks while you are reading the first part of this chapter... _

**Chapter 5: Hallucinations**

**After Draco's 6****th**** Year at Hogwarts**

_**The entire world has turned so black**_

_**Like a dark, unlit forest track**_

_**A strange, scary figure has started singing**_

_**Soon, he will start dancing**_

_**To the waltz of the devil**_

_**In a little while, he will rush out for the kill**_

_**Hallucination is the name of the faceless figure**_

_**He causes reality to dim into a sharp blur**_

_**Ruthless and wily**_

_**The tricks up his sleeve are always crafty**_

_**He leads depressed souls to the pit of snakes**_

_**Reducing their sanity to simple flakes**_

_**Urging them to jump in**_

_**And thus, commit the ultimate sin**_

An enormous snake with black and orange scales was lazily uncoiling itself from the balcony railings. It slowly slithered into his room, leaving a slimy brown trail in its wake. The snake had patches of its blood red flesh showing even if it seemed unbothered by it. Each of those patches was swatted by swarms of big, black flies. Draco was sitting on the edge of his bed, immobile. The monstrous snake twined around his shoes and made its way up, slowly coiling itself around his waist whilst he could do nothing. It languidly squeezed the air out of Draco's chest, and some of the black flies buzzed around his face.

Sirin, his eagle owl, was being devoured by an army of maggots on his crystal table. Lifting his eyes up with some difficulty, he could see his owl bathing in its own blood. Its wings had been cruelly sheared off its body, and fine white bones were sticking out of its twisted neck. The smell of rotting bird flesh and stale blood made Draco intensely nauseous, but he did not have the freedom to empty his stomach.

It was very dark. The enchanted candles and fire hearth had finally gone out. A suffocating stillness had besieged his room, and no air entered the accursed place, regardless of the fact that the glass panes that gave onto the balcony were wide open. The snake strengthened its hold some more, making Draco breathe in the foul odor in choking gasps. His eyes were smarting with the rancidness of it all. On his left shoulder were pieces of decaying flesh; human or not, he could not say.

A thin, black crow flew in and landed at the crystal table. It peered at the macabre feast for a moment before picking at one of Sirin's eye and flying away. Another crow, larger than his comrade, flew in and picked at some of the white, tiny writhing creatures. Soon, a flock of crows descended into his room, invading all free space. Their wings flapped convulsively but produced no air. Instead, Draco felt as if a large stone had been placed on top of his chest. He wanted to shout, but his lips felt as if they had been permanently sealed. Malevolent whispers, full of scorn, were filling his head:

_You deserve it, Draco…yes you do…_

_You vile, vile boy…_

_You deserve to be tortured. You will not die, Draco. You will stay the way you are now for eternity. You will beg for air but far from being fresh, you will get the fetid, cloying stillness. You are not a hero. You are a coward. Cowards deserve such fates._

I'm not, not a coward, thought Draco.

_Oh yes, you are! Look at Harry Potter, why are you not like him? You are neither as courageous, nor as selfless as he is. Look at Ron Weasley, he is brave, and he has Granger's love. You are pathetic. You deserve your fate, Draco. You were not able to protect Sirin. Look there, it lies in a decaying mound. No one loves you, Draco. Your mother hates you. Your father hates you. Granger hates you._

No! Granger doesn't hate me! She once said that she was falling for me, Draco tried to reply to the cunning voice in his mind.

_You are such a deluded fool! Fall for you? No, I don't think so, you dimwit. She was forced to say that! You forced her. She said those words because she wanted to escape you! It is Ron Weasley that she loves. They will triumph over Voldemort. They will marry and have kids. They will be a happy family forever._

_You, Draco, are an insignificant, insufferable excuse of a human being. You have no friends and neither will you ever have any!_

That's not true, Crabbe and Goyle are –

_Crabbe and Goyle? They are not your friends! They were just stuck with you because your father had influence and loads of money. Now that your father is in Voldemort's disfavour, they hate you! They don't care about you! The world does not care whether you live or you die. In fact, they will be better off without you. You are a burden on Earth; a shame of a wizard. You deserve to stay for eternity in the suffocating stillness with only the rotting snake, the black flies, and murder of crows for company. You will not be granted death, Draco. There will be no escape for you. You are damned Draco, damned._

No, thought Draco, no. I don't want to end like this, he tried to say to the cruel whisperer. The snake was making it difficult for him to breathe; he could feel blood running from his nose and reach his lips. The flies were trying to smother his eyes, and the black crows had started picking painfully at his neck. The floor of his room had suddenly opened, and a pit of snakes hissed at his feet. They all had punctures on their slimy bodies and were covered in buzzing flies.

No, Draco was saying to himself. If only he could say that aloud. He felt that if he managed to make some sound, they will stop tormenting him.

"No—No—NOOOO," screamed Malfoy, and instantly the scene dissolved. He was still sitting on the edge of his bed, and his room was no longer dark and cloying. The candles and fire hearth were still flickering softly. The cruel voice inside of his mind had disappeared. The wind swept inside, and Sirin was perched on the chandelier above. Her wings were undisturbed, her feathers only slightly ruffled with no bones peeking out of her body, and her warm eyes looked down at him curiously.

Draco gulped in air and was more than relieved that it was fresh and not putrid or decaying. There were no snakes about, no black flies and no crows. He wiped the back of his hand across the fine sheen of sweat that had appeared at his forehead. It was only another of those hallucinations, he said to himself. He had been unable to sleep for days, and his tiredness was making him see things that were not there.

He got up from his bed and retrieved his diary from the back of the Lighthouse painting. He did not even take a moment to glance at the painting he had done what felt like decades ago. The light from the lighthouse was greatly dimmed as a thick serpentine fog enveloped the latter. Dark clouds obscured the stars, and no moon was present. Angry, black, mammoth waves crashed relentlessly against the bleak, lonely structure. The little boyish figure perched on the railings was playing a mournful tune on his wooden fiddle, and streaks of black tears were flowing from his silver-grey eyes. Shivers racked his drenched body. The dolphins and whales were gone. No ship dared venturing in those treacherous waters; not even out of compassion for the desolate little figure. It seemed as if nobody cared about him or what would happen of him.

Draco sat himself at his table and, opening his diary, started writing with the dim hope that it would chase away his personal demons for a short while.

_Six years has passed since I first came to Hogwarts, and this is probably the last time I'm writing in this diary. Many things have happened: fell for someone I shouldn't have; made only superficial friends; Voldemort has returned to power; countless people have been injured, and the great wizard Dumbledore has been killed, and a whole carefree era has now disappeared with him._

_Looking back on those six years, they passed in the blink of an eye, but I am still the same old despicable Draco. Why was I ever born? Is it to witness others becoming heroes in front of me? Is it to act the gutless bully all of my life? Is it to act as others' stepping stone to glamour and fame? Is it to love and to have to let that love go? Is it to watch Voldemort exacting punishment on my mother and father? Is it to loath myself with every passing second? What is the purpose of this all?_

_Damn, it feels as if I am going crazy! Why the hell should I go on living? Voldemort must kill me! I know mother would not let him, though. She, too, might sacrifice herself like Potter's mother did years ago._

_At the start of the year, his Putrid Lord assigned me the mission to get it over with old Dumbledore. I knew he did not expect me to succeed, nor did I want to! Katie Bell accidentally touched the cursed necklace that Dumbledore should have received. Could not she have been more careful? I directed her not to touch what was inside the packet when she was under the Imperius Curse!_

_And the second attempt failed as well. Weasel King tasted the poisoned mead that Dumbledore should have drunk._

_The third attempt succeeded. I repaired the Vanishing Cabinet; the one at Borgin and Burkes, as well as the other one in the Room of Requirement. It was from there that the Death Eaters were able to come into the school. Dumbledore had come back from one of his errands and was in a piteous state, which made me wonder what he had been up to. I was not able to kill him. Snape finished him off in my place._

_I could not quite believe it. Dumbledore trusted Snape. How could he? But then, I have no right to judge Snape. I tried my best at my cowardly act of killing Dumbledore, even if I failed. The Death Eaters created havoc at Hogwarts. And that foul werewolf, Fenrir Greyback, was with them! It was a shock to see him! There were so many innocent students, and that lascivious being looked as if he had come to a feast._

_Seeing Dumbledore die like that threw a strange sense of unreality over everything that was happening. Snape asked me to run and I did, like the tainted person I was. I kept asking myself whether I was trapped in some kind of nightmare, but Bellatrix's jarring laughter in my ears kept confirming what kind of trash I was. I had facilitated the killing of Dumbledore, let the Death Eaters inside Hogwarts and exposed innocents to scums of the earth such as blood lusty Greyback. All of that, why? Because Voldemort had threatened to kill me and my family? Why did I ever accept? What did I not let him kill me off? True, I did not want him to kill my parents!_

_I am so useless! I can't fight with the other side, nor fight with the side I am trapped in. I am doomed to be in the middle, unsure of what I have to do or where to turn to! So contemptibly pitiful! Who the hell do I turn to?_

_Granger, Potter and Weasley have been fighting since the very start. They know what they have to do, and they most probably will not return to school next year. They have their courageous mission to fulfill, whilst I have to bear with my craven, whining existence. It just feels like a dagger twisting inside of me, and the sad thing is that it is not even painful!_

_That must be how Lydian must have felt! A dagger pierced his heart but that was not what hurt him. It was his own revolting person that was hurting him. It was the person who he had once been; a pitiless monster that had killed the family of the one he loved, but in the end had come to bitterly regret his act. Lydian was so wretchedly enraged even as he lay dying because he was not feeling half of the pain he wanted to feel. That is why as he lay dying, he morphed into the majestic dragon he was, so as to feel the dagger sink deeper into him. That too did not suffice; he let himself burst in a million tiny pieces. Only then did he get the peace he sought!_

_I feel like him, but I know there is more to come. I have not suffered enough to burst. There might be things I can do to help undo Voldemort without the latter knowing! There must be some pathetic help that stupid Draco can offer!_

_Adieu and Goodbye, Diary…these have been my last words written here._

_You are going straight into the fire, but worry not, I fear I'll be joining you soon enough._

…..

**End Notes: **"That it should come to this!" - Hamlet quote (Act I, Scene II)


	7. Chapter 6: The End of an Era

**Chapter 6:**** The End of an Era**

_**The End of an Era**_

_**The Candle has burnt itself**_

_**The Rain has spent itself**_

_**The Wind has moved to other lands**_

_**And Time has forgone its sands…**_

Voldemort was dead, and he, Draco, had played no part in the fiend's downfall! Voldemort's power and cunning had been of no use for the latter till the very end. In his lust for power and eagerness to conquer death, the Dark Lord had been blinded and had failed to conjecture what Potter had so quickly learned: the Elder Wand's story. And, to say that he, Draco, had disarmed Dumbledore and been, albeit for a short time, master of that wand.

Draco did not care about the Elder Wand. He was not caring about anything as he stood in the partially destroyed Great Hall, amidst so many people who had bravely fought the Death Eaters. His mother and father stood just behind him. He saw Luna speaking to Potter; and the Boy Who Triumphed soon disappearing beneath his invisibility cloak. Hermione sat with Ron, and if he was not wrong, they were holding hands. They too, shortly, disappeared under Harry Potter's cloak. Everyone had fought with all of their heart and resolve.

He had done nothing.

Draco had witnessed countless people being tortured and killed when he had come back from Hogwarts. It had been for the Easter holidays in his seventh year. He had witnessed Charity Burbage, the professor who taught Muggle Studies, being tortured, killed and ending up as dinner for Voldemort's snake, Nagini.

He had done nothing.

He had witnessed Hermione being put under the Cruciatus Curse. Not once, but seven excruciating times.

He had done nothing.

He had feared that if he showed he cared about a Mudblood, that it would have been the Killing Curse that would have hit the girl he loved, instead. When he had been asked to bring Griphook upstairs from the cellar, on his way in the darkened corridor, he had conjured up a sound proof spell and summoned a very fearful and confused Dobby. Draco had not been sure that the elf would come, as the elf had been freed. Yet, the goodhearted elf had heeded his call, even if the Malfoys were no longer his masters.

"I'm glad you came, Dobby, don't be afraid! I've not time to explain. Apparate in the cellar and save Harry Potter and his friends! Do that as soon as I retrieve Griphook from there. Potter is your friend and he freed you, and now, you can thank him properly. Take everyone and go far from here! Go!" Draco had urged the little house-elf.

Dobby had looked at him with tears sparkling in his big, round eyes.

"Master Draco is not—is not the only one who has asked Dobby for help, Dobby has been summoned by the owner of Hog's Head, Aberforth Dumbledore-" The little elf had started saying.

"No time, Dobby! Go I say!" Draco had ordered the elf and had knelt down briefly to hug the little creature.

"Thank you for everything, Dobby, thank you for the violin," Draco whispered almost inaudibly. Dobby's tears were falling freely now. Draco wiped at his own face as Dobby Disapparated and lifted the spell that muted sounds.

Draco had known that he had no right to ask Dobby to put his life in danger, but he could not think of any other way to help the prisoners. He had asked Dobby to take Potter and the rest, and had been very astonished on seeing Potter and Weasley escaping from the cellar; no doubt, to save Hermione and Griphook. He should have thought about that. They were not the sort to leave their friends.

Draco had been doing some fast thinking to find a way to get Hermione and Griphook to safety. However, as Potter and Weasley had rushed in, Draco had had to, surreptitiously, jinx the Death Eaters so that the Dark Lord's minions did not impede their escape whilst trying to duck hexes from the courageous trio.

In the end, amazing Dobby had Apparated once more to save them. Draco had witnessed the knife of Bellatrix flying to meet Dobby's side, powerless to do anything to stop the weapon's trajectory…

There, Draco knew, he had caused the death of the first being that had genuinely made him smile; the first being who had known what would make Draco, when he had been merely a child, happy. Draco had thought of the broken violin then, and his hand had gone up to his neck and felt the small, wooden G-clef pendant hidden behind his black shirt. The piercing pain in his heart kept getting more and more acute.

Dobby was gone. And so many others, such as Crabbe, had died too.

And he had done nothing.

Draco remembered how Crabbe, Goyle, Flint and he himself had once, in their fourth year, disguised themselves into Dementors to scare Potter. It was with some difficulty that he had lifted himself up onto Goyle's shoulders. Trying to stand there without losing his balance whilst wearing a large cloak was quite a challenge! Potter had sent a Patronus at them, and they had ended up making a fool of themselves.

He recalled how they had been scolded by McGonagall, and once they had regained the Slytherin Common Room, all four of them had been unable to hold back peals of laughter. Such times would never come back again. He would never be that fourteen-year-old attending Hogwarts again. He always thought he never liked the school, but now that he was not ever going to be offered the possibility of going back again, he knew he had appreciated the years he had spent there.

Those years would never come back. There would be no more Quidditch matches against Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw. There would be no more sitting back at the Slytherin table and making fun of others; no secretly stealing glances over where Granger usually seated herself at the Gryffindor table. Those times were forever gone; how could they have passed by so quickly?

He could not even credit himself with having helped in saving Granger and the rest from Malfoy Manor! Indeed, Dobby had already been asked for help by Aberforth Dumbledore.

Even Snape had been working for Dumbledore and not for Voldemort, as every one else including himself, Draco, had thought. Why could Snape not have told him? He could have helped. But nobody trusted cowardly Draco. Draco was a teenager with unremarkable powers. He had never distinguished himself the way Potter and his friends had. Why should anyone ask for him to fight evil alongside them when he himself was evil?

_I will never deserve Hermione Granger_, thought Draco.

The seventeen-year-old was remembering their escapade in the abandoned tower four years ago. Oh, it seemed so very far away and felt as if it had all been a beautiful dream both of them had lived. However, on waking up, one of them had their brief encounter seared in his mind whilst the other one remembered nothing of that bittersweet exchange. Now, he will have to be separated from her forever. He could not live in the shadows, watching her fall into the arms of someone else. Nobody had an inkling of his feelings for her, and they will probably never know.

Hermione would go on to live her life with Ron Weasley, and he could only wish for her to be happy. He knew his love would never die. Indeed, love was eternal; only people died, and it is said that if the love has been true, the Universe will conspire to bring them together again. So maybe not in this life, but he had hope that in another one, lovely Granger would be his…

It had greatly pained Draco to hear that Snape, too, had loved and had that love snatched from him. The pain that man must have carried inside of him must have been tremendous! Still, Snape had died courageously fighting Voldemort, and the same could not be said of Draco…

Minerva McGonagall was still addressing all those gathered in the Great Hall, but her words were not reaching Draco's ears. The war was over - even though the clash with his own self was only starting.

Draco walked away from where he was standing, and his parents quickly followed him. Nobody paid them the least attention. They had never mattered.

Outside, the sun was shining bright. Its warmth, however, could not penetrate him. The cold fog that had enveloped him for the last few years seemed thicker than ever. Thorns were pricking at the back of his eyes.

"Draco! Stop! Where are you going?" Narcissa Malfoy asked, putting a stilling hand on Draco's shoulders.

Pitch black curtains were gradually falling onto Draco's eyes. The cloying feeling of the huge snake encircling him was gaining more and more hold of him. He wanted to disappear. He did not want to see the sun anymore; he wanted to sink into the darkness of oblivion.

"Let me go, Mother," he said, quietly.

"Draco, what is this?" Lucius Malfoy asked, worried to see his son looking so frightfully detached. Both Narcissa and Lucius felt that something was wrong. They could feel their son slipping from their hands. It was some time before Draco responded.

"Mother, it is time for me to leave this place," Draco answered quietly. He did not find in him the power to explain. He was slowly suffocating in his own body. He gently dropped his mother's hand from his shoulder and started running as if his life depended on it.

He Disapparated a few seconds later, leaving his parents exchanging stunned and horrified glances in the deserted Hogwarts grounds. Birds could be heard lively chirping and twittering in the trees of the Forbidden Forest. A cloudless blue sky stretched to the horizon. There was an odd, cathartic feel to the air.

The Great Hall's audience started coming out in pairs and in groups. Some chatted quietly amongst themselves, others stared listlessly at the destruction, but all of them looked upon the Malfoys not without feeling some slight dislike and resentment.

Nobody noticed or cared that Draco Malfoy was gone.

In the meantime, Draco had landed with a huge splash in a muddy pool. He had fallen so hard on his right arm that one of the bones inside could be heard snapping harshly. Raising his eyes with some difficulty, he realised that he had landed in a place where no living soul had come out of alive. Thousands of Dementors swarmed about and were precipitating avidly towards him. It was very dark and the air beheld a deathly frost. The stench of rotting flesh pervaded the place. Draco had lost his wand when he had fallen down and was now groping blindly into the thick, black mud with his left hand.

He found it at last. The Dementors were circling him now, not at all in a hurry to suck his soul out of him; they wanted to savour their rare meal. Draco held his wand tightly in his hand and turned it so that the tip pointed towards him.

"CRUCIO," he bellowed ruthlessly. The intense pain that overwhelmed him caused him to point his wand away at once. His eyes were swimming and, strangely, the Dementors stayed quite immobile, as if watching him through the dark, abyss-like holes they had instead of eyes. Draco was not paying them any attention, though. He still had six more times to go.

"CRUCIO," he cried out a second time. Again, no success; as soon as the severe pain besieged him, his reflexes directed him to point his wand away. Five more times, he said to himself, five more and the Dementors would be allowed to do whatever they wanted to with him! The soulless creatures were becoming more agitated again. They were trying to come nearer to him it seemed, without success.

"CRUCIO," Draco shouted, hexing himself once more with an Unforgivable Curse. This time, he succeeded in keeping his wand pointed in his direction for a while longer. The pain was beginning to feel as if a live fire was consuming him, and he pointed his wand away. His left hand was trembling convulsively. Don't think, don't think, he urged himself.

"CRUCIO!" It was the first time a wizard was using a wand against himself. Tears were freely falling from his eyes and blood poured out from his nose. Three more times, he thought.

The Lighthouse painting in his room, back at Malfoy Manor, was in flames. The lonely structure was gradually blackening, and the little blond figure with the violin was on fire as well. The handsome boy's silver-grey eyes had died out. The boiling sea seeped out of the picture, carving deep tracks into the bluish-dark, granite wall and burning holes in the marble floor of Draco's room. The beautiful painting was well on its way to combust into ashes…

"CRUCIO!" Draco raised his eyes up to the mountain ranges ahead. They were black and blurry. He could feel the crimson liquid flowing from his ears. The inside of his head felt as if it was being cruelly whipped. The Dementors were performing some kind of eerie dance around him. They were not coming near him anymore. He lowered his wand for a little moment of respite before crying out again.

"CRUCIO!" He was screaming now. It was some sort of odd release. He was screaming for all the times in the past when he had wanted to do so but could not have risked showing his concern. He had wanted to scream when a year ago the Death Eaters had entered Hogwarts and wreaked havoc there, even if it was his fault they had gotten inside the school in the first place. He had wanted to scream when Voldemort killed Charity Burbage in front of him; he had wanted to scream when Bellatrix had tortured Hermione; he had wanted to scream when he had seen the knife hitting Dobby's side.

All those times, he had just bit his tongue so as not to let any betraying sound come out of his mouth. Draco found that he could now keep the wand pointed on himself for much longer. One more time, he thought. The Dementors were going round and round him so fast that he was feeling dizzy and nauseous. His whole body was now trembling. He felt his wand sliding from his slippery hand, but he managed to tighten his hold on it. It felt as if every pore of his body was tearing - he could take it no more. Draco pointed his wand away and let himself fall in the shallow, muddy water. His breathing came at jagged intervals. All strength had left his body.

That proved to be a wrong move, though. As soon as he had let himself fall down, the Dementors crowded on all sides of him. No, he thought, no, he still had one more of that Unforgivable Curse remaining to be inflicted on his piteous self.

"CRUCIO!" cried Draco, for the last time. He could feel the skin of his back opening up in deep gashes. The will to fight at once deserted him. The thousands of Dementors pressed themselves on him, eager to be the one to perform the Death Kiss on the latter. The muddy pool in which Draco lay was gradually turning to black ice. His fingertips were freezing, and he felt ice coating his lips. There was no hope, only despair, thought Draco.

Think of something that makes you happy, Draco faintly urged himself. He could not summon any cheerful thought, however. It is better if they take away my soul; it is of no use, he reflected bleakly. He closed his eyes-he was dying. He would never see Granger again. What wouldn't he give to have a few seconds in the abandoned tower with her for a last time…He was remembering their kiss...

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Draco shouted. He felt something incredibly warm shooting up from the tip of his wand. The wand had vibrated so violently in his palm that Draco had lost his hold of it. It could not have been enough, thought Draco. There were thousands of Dementors here. _The Land of Dementors_ was a place he had only read about.No one who had had the misfortune of venturing here had been able to go back to their families. There was not going to be anymore storytelling around cosy fireplaces for them; no more hugs from their loved ones, and they would never feel the warmth of the sun again.

Draco did not know what was happening to the Dementors, and neither did he have an inkling of what was happening to him. Had he been given the Death Kiss? Had he died? It did not seem to matter anymore.

His could not open his eyes. It felt as if he was hovering from a great height. Strangely, the scorching pain in his heart and body was subsiding.

Soon, Draco Malfoy's consciousness was lost to the world…


	8. Chapter 7: The Awakening

**Chapter 7:**** The Awakening**

_**Six Thousand Years Ago**_

_**A cave in the forested outskirts of Haaraya village, Ancient Egypt.**_

"My sons, have you completed the work?" the old woman asked the group of grave-looking men who had just emerged from the cave. They were dressed in simple white tunics and had slung small velvet bags containing workmen-tools over their shoulders.

"Yes, Wiroa Sine." They had called the elderly woman 'good mother'; it was the traditional way of addressing elders in their community.

"The Creature has been buried, and the dark box has been sealed. The Wirous have taken over now. We have been asked to take our leave." The men bowed before continuing on their way.

"Wiroa Nubu, what are the Wirous doing inside the cave?" the old woman's grandson asked. He twirled a dark curl of hair in his chubby fingers.

"A terrible, terrible curse has struck our lands, my little one! The Wirous are getting rid of it. We must not talk of this!" the old woman admonished the little boy who stood by her side on the forest track. The child's brows were deeply furrowed as he fruitlessly tried to peer inside the cave.

"It is not prudent to stay here, you heard your Wirou Nubu. He said he would come back as soon as he finished his work." The boy had accompanied his grandfather to the entrance of the big cave. However, neither he, nor his grandmother had been allowed inside. At present, with stooped shoulders and hands clutching his clay figurine, the boy made his way back to the village. His young mind could not have understood that the well-being of the village depended on the success of the Wirous' dangerous undertaking…

A group of hooded men stood inside the cave. They were the Wirous; the wise men of Haaraya village. Torches burned along the walls of the cave. Their flames cast a warm reddish glow upon everyone present and reflected off the crystal-like surfaces of huge stalactites adorning the ancient ceiling.

An odd looking man stood some distance away watching the proceedings with an air of deep concentration. He was dressed in an indigo cloak that was embroidered at the hem with threads of golden silk. He also wore a tall, pointed hat over his waist-length mane of blond hair. This strange man was the one to have brought the Arctic Willow for the Head Priest. Indeed, that specific plant was an essential component of the ceremony taking place.

The Head Priest had allowed the peculiar foreigner to stay, for the man was not only knowledgeable in the matter at hand but had also helped in capturing the Cursed Creature. Besides, the two of them had been long time friends. It was a friendship that the other Wirous never understood. Their Head Priest was a short, stocky man who was always very friendly. His friend, however, was a good-looking, tall blond man who never cared to speak with the Wirous. On the contrary, he oftentimes seemed disapproving of them. His name was Lydian Hydras.

Seated in a dark corner of the cave, a young teenage boy was offered a moment of respite. He had been playing a numinous tune from his violin-like device, but had now been asked to stop for a short time. The tune, with its heavy and mournful pace, had almost drained him of all his energy. Even if the musical instrument was rudimentary-looking, it had been carved out of the dark red wood of the Euscakypta and therefore had magical properties. Indeed, the fiercely struggling Creature had been petrified and sealed under the Earth with the violin's help!

Now, in order to wrap up the ritual, the Head Priest would have to walk to the cavern's lake and dip seven times into the crystal clear water.

Soon, the teenage boy was given the authorization to resume playing. The melody the boy played this time had a lighter, almost playful rhythm. It caused the fine, sparkling ruby particles of dust coating the walls of the cave to gently detach, hover in the air for a few seconds before gracefully swirling down into the lake of the cavern. The water gradually acquired an emerald tinge, and a golden mist rose indolently from its glittering surface.

With a splash, the Head Priest immersed himself into the emerald liquid. He emerged a while later, reciting some odd-sounding incantations aloud. "Escarraa Tesquinus Nato Pualtlo, Escarraa Tesquinus Nato Pualtlo…" He repeated this whole process for six more times. This part of the magical ceremony consisted in bewitching the words that the Priest murmured to reverberate across the walls of the immense cave for thousands of years to come.

Afterwards, the Priest walked to a round altar, which was encompassed by a triangle of pink and blue flower petals, erected in the middle of the cave. Water dripped continuously from his thick linen sarong and left a trail on the ground. On the altar was a heart_-_shaped earthenware bowl containing the twigs and dried leaves of the Dwarf Blue Arctic Willow. The Priest proceeded to set the leaves of the Willow alight with the tip of a wooden stick. This burning of the Willow leaves gave birth to a beautiful flame. Indeed, the flame had a pale pink core which was enclosed by a vivid dark blue mantle. The Wirous formed a circle around the Priest and joined their hands as they chanted prayers invoking the protection of their gods.

Once the ritual came to an end, the People of Haaraya would stop fearing for their lives. Things would return back to normal. The Creature had been lured to the cave with great difficulty; the Wirous had to ensure it stayed in the grave for as long as possible. Even though petrified in body, its mouth could not be sealed. The Creature could still scream piercingly. In a short while, a muting spell would be put on the cave. Its cries would thus be forever prevented from reaching human ears.

The strangely dressed man would then walk with the Priest to his home in the village. Together, they would resume their perusal of an old parchment for hours and days to come. The trapping of the Cursed Creature would have been merely a brief, albeit strenuous and necessary, undertaking for the two wizards to accomplish.

**The Awakening**

_**Awoken from its millennia old slumber**_

_**With a renewed appetite for human-flesh supper**_

_**Its parched throat demands to be appeased with blood**_

_**And its reason has long drowned in the Vengeance Flood**_

_**Present Day **_

_**A huge cave surrounded by the Sahara desert, Egypt.**_

Archaeology was the passion of the five British students who came all the way from the University of Bristol in England to a forgotten cave in Egypt. The five students have been working for eight hours straight now. Black rubber boxes and sealed plastic containers were strewn haphazardly around the place, filled to the brim with bones, pieces of broken vases, and charred remnants of ancient torches.

The Merua Cave, as it was called, seemed to have been a sacred burial ground. The walls of the cave were a dull brown, and strange rituals were depicted on them. Also, a lake seemed to have existed in the cave, for the remains of shells and fossil algae were being steadily uncovered.

Presently, Stacy sat cross-legged on a foam mat and was carefully scrubbing away sand particles off an ancient artefact with what looked like a make-up brush. Kathy lay full length on the sandy soil and was currently absorbed in scouring a small area, by means of a leaf trowel, with precision and care. A few metres away, Brian dug at the earth with a spade whilst Kevin shovelled up the unneeded rubble in a wheelbarrow.

Elena, on the other hand, was not actively involved in any of the excavation works. She sat in fascination in front of a weighty metal box they had unearthed two hours ago. Despite their numerous efforts, they had failed to lift or move the box by even a mere inch! Elena happened to be working on a thesis whose title was _"Locksmithing: the forgotten science and art of ancient civilizations"_. This particular find had been a downright gift from heaven for the young woman.

Indeed, the curious box had a very complex, ancient locking system. Elena tried turning one of the several tiny black lion heads adorning the box. This manoeuvre did not seem to have any effect on the lid; it remained tightly closed. Instead, two sharp bronze pins swiftly surged forth from the eyes of the metal lion head, and jabbed at her fingers before silently retreating to their hiding place. She had been wrong to think that the lion head would prove to be some kind of mini door knob!

Alerted by Elena's cry of pain, Professor Laurence Alcott raised his eyes from the queer tablet Stacy had discovered hours ago. Professor Alcott was an expert at deciphering ancient writings. Upon Stacy's find, he had explained that the strange tablet was a Defixiones; that is, a tablet on which a curse had been written. The Professor of Archaeology, absorbed as he had been in decoding the voces mysticae, had remained quite oblivious to what had been happening around him.

Presently, he carefully placed the Defixiones on a foam mat and walked to where Elena still clasped her injured fingers in open mouthed astonishment.

"Bring the first-aid kit, Brian, quickly!" he asked. He took hold of one of Elena's wounded fingers and, curiously, placed it over a narrow runnel that had been intricately carved into the box at the origin by ancient craftsmen. Drops of blood trickled down and raced along the elaborate path of the runnel before seemingly disappearing. A moment later, a muffled grumble was heard.

"No, that is impossible!" thought Elena. She had read about blood being used to break through different kinds of enchantments. That could not be real, though! In fact, it was the superstitious stories told to her by her grandmother, when she had been only a child, which had led her to study archaeology. She was suddenly remembering those stories now, and how frightened she had been of those children's tales! Angry monsters that lusted after blood and were held imprisoned underground did not exist, did they?

Professor Laurence Alcott, however, seemed thrilled. He roughly bandaged Elena's injury, even neglecting in his excitement to disinfect the wound with antiseptic lotion.

"What was that?" Brian asked apprehensively.

"Just some odd echo. It's nothing important. Continue with your work!" The professor walked to where the tablet lay, sat himself down, and was once again lost in his deciphering exercise.

As the clock ticked by, the Professor and his students seemed to have forgotten they had to return to their makeshift tents before nightfall. The local Bedouins had warned them against staying in the cave after sunset. It was believed to be the haunt of malevolent spirits. Yet, their English audience had hardly paid any attention to that wise warning.

Kevin, tired of sifting through debris, came to sit near Elena.

"Want a bite?" he asked genially, peeling the wrapper off a bar of chocolate and shoving it under her nose.

"Yes, thank you! I'm famished!" Elena answered, accepting her friend's offer.

"Be care-foool!" Elena cautioned a moment later, forgetting that her mouth was crammed with chocolate. Kevin was taking his turn at trying to figure out how to open the ominous-looking box.

"You're calling me a foo- Ouch!" He, too, had been pricked by the pins. He drew out his handkerchief and was on the point of wiping his injured finger, when Professor Alcott abruptly jumped up from his seat, rushed to where Kevin sat, and roughly seized the finger of the younger man with his left hand. The Professor still firmly clasped the Defixiones in his other hand.

"Professor, what are you-" Elena started enquiring, but was interrupted by Professor Alcott who motioned her to keep silent. The rest of the students gathered around Kevin to observe what was happening.

Professor Alcott did the same thing he had done with Elena. He let Kevin's blood flow into the runnel; although this time, he also muttered some strange words. His eyes never once wavered from the curse tablet. Soon, an ear-splitting groan filled the cave. There was no mistaking this time; that scary sound had undeniably come from beneath their feet!

"Did you—did you hear that?" Kevin asked tremblingly. The others did not have the courage to answer. Their feet felt glued to the ground. Goosebumps had appeared on their arms, and they all started to sweat rather heavily.

"Let's get out of here!" Stacy whispered. "This isn't right!"

"No! It is best if nobody moves!" Professor Alcott quietly urged.

All of a sudden, the lighting fixtures installed in the cave by the students went out. The screen of Elena's laptop flickered for a little while before going black. They were now drowned in complete darkness. A faint burning odour reached their noses. Maybe if they had been children, they would have allowed themselves the luxury of screaming their lungs out. Except, unfortunately, they happened to be rational university students. They no longer had the childhood privilege of crying out when confronted with something sinister.

They found themselves starting to think of England and their homes. What had made them choose this work? If they succeeded in escaping this evil place, would they dare return? Was there a possibility of dismissing the strange whispers filling the place as some kind of resonance due to the morphology of the cave? There had to be an explanation as to why unnatural, bloodcurdling murmurs came from directly beneath where they stood!

"ESCARRAAA…TESQUIESS …PUALTL… ESCARRAAA…TESQUIESS …PUALTL…ESCARRAAA…TESQUIESS …PUALTL…" groaned the invisible creature over and over again. It sounded like the muffled howling of a wind trapped underground which was desperately seeking a way to escape. No human being or animal could make such kind of noise. The students lifted their hands to their ears in an attempt to block out the cries of the hidden creature. They should have heeded the advice of the Bedouins!

A few minutes later, the cave went resoundingly silent. This made the small protesting noises originating from the black box stand out more prominently, though. It seemed as if the locking mechanism was being slowly unlatched. Something was opening the box from underground!

**End Notes:** What happened of the archaeology students and their Professor? What happened of Draco? Where is Hermione and the rest of the HP characters? Read the next chapters to find out!


	9. Chapter 8: Birthday at the Burrow

_**Note: **Would you like to elope with him? I know I would!_

**Chapter 8:**** Birthday at the Burrow**

Hermione sat in front of the beautiful mirror and stared unseeingly at her own reflection. She absent-mindedly arranged the two roses, which Ginny had insisted she wear, in her hair. On this day, twenty-three years ago, she was born. Fleur, Bill's wife, had presented her with a new dress that now lay on the bed. It was a knee-length garment of a lovely peach colour with lace frill sleeves and a scalloped hem.

Hermione had wanted her birthday to be celebrated at her home itself, in Lyminster, which was in the south of England, but Ron Weasley had convinced her to come to the Burrow. Hermione had not wanted to give his family any trouble. However, Molly Weasley had insisted there was nothing she would more love to do than prepare a wonderful birthday dinner party. Molly had also dropped hints about a surprise awaiting her. Therefore, together with her parents, Hermione had come to the Burrow about an hour ago. She had been given a very warm reception by the Weasleys. Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and even Hagrid had, likewise, greeted their friend with much enthusiasm.

Hermione was now an accomplished young woman working at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Just a day before, she had been able to persuade the Ministry to do away with the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. She had personally drafted the paper proposing the abolition of the Committee, and it had been applauded. A new law which contained provisions concerning dangerous magical creatures was now in the process of being written. Its focus was on the special care and handling required by the so-called dangerous creatures: how they were to be looked after, rules overseeing the reinstatement of those animals in their natural environments, and how they were to be observed once released in the wild. Hagrid, known for his great love of all animals, was being of great help throughout all these undertakings.

Hermione had, evidently, been motivated to work on this particular project because of the experience she had had in her third year at Hogwarts with a Hippogriff. The magical beast, albeit innocent, had been in danger of being executed. It had been a typical case of a wizard's word - a teenage wizard at that - against a poor animal's silence, and in such a scenario, if a coin were to be flipped, very predictably, either side will show the same winner. Hermione had successfully argued that the possibility of an innocent magical creature being executed was disproportionately high. This was because the belief that wizards had absolute command over the animals - and thus could do anything to them, even inflicting the worst of cruelty over the beasts - was still widespread.

On this special day, however, strange thoughts were filling her mind. She was also feeling queasy inside. Indeed, Hermione could not understand why she felt as if something was missing in her life... She should be the happiest of girls! She loved her work. Everybody was proud of her achievements. Ron was her boyfriend; the other Weasleys were all very nice and warm. Voldemort had been destroyed six years ago, and everything was fine in the wizarding world! Then, where did the uncomfortable feeling inside her chest come from?

She could identify some of the unease as being guilt. Ron's family was always unfailingly kind to her. There was no reason for her to feel as if she was being pressed into some kind of invisible wall! Hermione sighed and got up from the little wooden stool she had been sitting on. Ginny's room still contained pictures of the Holyhead Harpies. This time one could even see the red-haired witch smiling from within the ranks of its players. Posters of the Weird Sisters were up on the walls as well. Its lead singer had bright purple-coloured hair and was bent over a guitar.

On the make-up table were numerous pictures of the Weasley family. In many of them, she could see her own happy face looking back at her. In one of them, Ron's arm was around her waist. It had been taken a year ago at the Quidditch World Cup in Australia. The Cambodian team had triumphed over the Bulgarian team, the previous Quidditch World Cup winner, and had caused a sensation in the world of Quidditch!

Indeed, the then relatively-unknown Cambodian team had deployed a vast array of amazing moves, brilliant tactics, and prodigious skill. The enormous stadium had erupted into delighted "oohs" and "aahs" during the entire length of the game. It had lasted merely an hour, though. The whole of the stadium had been disappointed when the Cambodian Seeker caught the snitch, for it symbolized the ending of a most fascinating game. "Match of the Millennium," they had called it! Hermione was not a great fan of Quidditch, but she had been enraptured by the brilliance displayed by the Cambodian team as it unfolded its pioneering arsenal of Quidditch moves.

The Cambodian team, in an interview to the Daily Prophet, had attributed their success exclusively to their mysterious coach who had not made an appearance. They confessed that their coach had been the one to devise the complete assortment of ingenious moves and strategies.

It was seeing the Cambodian team play so wonderfully that had prompted Ron to encircle Hermione's waist in sheer delight and kiss her cheek. Hermione had felt very embarrassed, though, for one of the magical big screens had temporarily diverted its attention away from the game, and had taken to showing the fans in the stadium. It had chosen that same time to zoom on them. Ron had immediately released her, turning beetroot red all over. Hermione had managed a nervous laugh. They had been endlessly teased by family and friends alike afterwards.

There were also pictures of when they had been in Dumbledore's Army on the table. Hermione bent down and scooped the picture into her hands. It had been taken when the founders of the DA had been in their fifth year. She sorely missed those times. Most of the smiling faces in there had gone on with their own lives. Hermione could see a laughing Fred Weasley standing with his arms slung across the shoulders of his twin brother George. Fred was no longer amongst them now. So many good people had died in that battle… Sighing again, Hermione gently placed the picture on the table.

Donning the beautiful dress, she walked to the window and raised the blinds. In the distance, the glorious sun was setting over the long stretch of green meadows, draping them with a fiery orange veil. A pair of robins flew to a wild cherry tree before swiftly disappearing in its dark-green, leafy foliage. Down below, in the back garden, five gnomes sat around a tiny, cosy fire. They had cleared a small area by pulling out clumps of the overlong grass. The gnomes were, at present, busy feasting on cabbages, carrots, and peas. Molly Weasley would be furious.

The flower boxes under the window contained bright yellow Leopard's bane, Hollyhocks, and Dandelion clocks that were in full bloom. The globular dandelions were particularly arresting as their fibrous centres held the dusky rays of the setting sun captive. Raising a hand to her hair to prevent the two peach roses from falling, Hermione bent herself over the window sill and softly blew over a dandelion head. She smiled as the tiny parachutes gracefully twirled down, some falling on the blades of the green grass, others mingling with the weeds and moss of the overgrown turf.

Feeling a light breeze touch her face, Hermione closed her eyes and breathed in the pure countryside air.

…**.**

Five years had passed since Hermione Granger finished her seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She had been the only one of her friends to return to the school after the confrontation that had led to the annihilation of Voldemort. Throughout that year, she had never felt totally at ease - not because she had been a year older than the rest of the seventh-year students, but for the reason that the faces which had accompanied her from her first to sixth year were no longer there anymore.

No one had chided her or called her "Mudblood!"

"Now, where did that thought come from?" wondered Hermione. "Why am I thinking of that particular personage on this day?" Yet, as soon as the face of the boy with the sandy blond hair flashed in her mind, it obstinately refused to leave! No, Hermione had not missed that boy in her seventh year! Why in the world should she ever indeed? She should have felt relieved that the one who had constantly taunted her in the past had not been there! No one had sniggered or mimicked her behind her back.

Certainly, everybody, to Hermione's intense discomfort, had been quite in awe of her because of the role she had played in the war against Voldemort. She also happened to be one of Harry Potter's best friends! Hermione had only ever known one person at Hogwarts who had never been genuinely impressed by the Boy Who Lived.

Back in her seventh year, the students seemed to have expected her to carry Harry's autographs wherever she went! Professor McGonagall had come to her rescue then. The new Hogwarts headmistress had threatened to transfigure the students into walking autographs if they dared to bother Hermione again. The threat had kept the students away even if Hermione had known Professor McGonagall would never use transfiguration as a punishment.

Hermione had served as head girl, and it had been a rather uneventful year. The peaceful state of affairs had been quite welcomed of course, since the previous seven years had given her a dose of adventure that would last a lifetime! Besides, she had not had to be on the constant look-out for the blond boy who had, previously, made it a pastime to goad or bully others. No one had disturbed her onboard the Hogwarts Express; no one had entered her compartment without permission so as to make some contemptuous remark. And, everything had been orderly in the corridors of Hogwarts.

She did spot a cute ferret in the grounds once, though. She had left her books by the lake, where she had been sitting, and followed the furry animal. It had simply run off to its hiding place where the smaller female had been waiting. Slapping herself lightly on the head, Hermione had returned to her textbooks. She had had to read the same line five times over before being able to understand its meaning.

In fact, all of Hermione's grades had been "Outstanding" at her NEWTs that year! She had not had time to ponder over futile things! Nonetheless, if she were to be honest with herself, Hermione was sure her excellent grades betrayed how hard she had laboured so that the blond profile of a certain person did not disturb her every waking thought. Indeed, in her seventh year, a queer thing had started happening and it still did, occasionally. She had started dreaming about an abandoned tower in Hogwarts, and she had not been alone in there…

She remembered how in the middle of the night, she would wake up screaming "No!" The other girls in the dormitory would rush to her in alarm. They usually bestowed compassionate glances upon her, thinking she was having nightmares about the battle that had occurred the year before. She had felt rather guilty for she knew it had not been a cry of fright, but a cry of sheer panic that he should leave her. She had never felt as keen a sense of loss as she experienced when the dream ended, and her eyes opened onto the real world.

Yet, whenever she fully came back to herself, she tried shrugging off those dreams as inconsequential. It dismayed her not to be able to share who she saw when her eyes were closed; she certainly could not afford to confide in Ginny. Even if she and Ginny shared many of those girls' talks, Ginny was still Ron's sister. She could not disclose to Ginny that she had feelings, which seemed to run very deep in that recurring dream, for someone other than her brother, especially since that someone had never given her a second thought, had never even exchanged a kind word with her, and despised who she was - a Muggle-born.

Why had those vivid dreams been haunting her? She had not the faintest inkling as to the reason behind that! Weren't dreams supposed to be a window to one's subconscious? Why should _he _be imprinted on her subconscious? Why did it always feel like her heart was breaking into a million pieces every time she woke up and found out it had all been a mere dream?

It was very disquieting that it should have come to the point where having to separate herself from the individual in her dream made her feel reluctant to wake up. She had had the same dream again, last night, and was still unable to shake off the lingering melancholy that had gripped her.

Also, whenever she was awake and happened to think about the dream, she was always filled with a strange longing. There was always something…mysterious, elusive that seemed to be at arm's length. Yet, every time she tried to grasp it, it felt as if she was trying to close her fingers around a wisp of cool cloud that suddenly sprouted small, thin legs and rushed out of her reach in fright. That image often made her laugh even if it was frustrating not knowing what it was her mind was so desperate to know about. Some invisible barrier was thwarting her every attempt at uncovering the mystery, though.

At night, she had made it a habit of putting some perfume on herself, arranging her hair properly, and doing all those little things which women did to attract men. Her purpose was not to catch the attention of someone, though; she just thought she might meet someone in an old tower again - even if that happened only after she fell asleep. Although she had long ago noticed that she always dressed in her Hogwarts robe in the dream, she still lingered a tad bit longer than was necessary in front of the mirror. She could not resist it. The prospect of an encounter with him always made her want to look good. She did not want to give him any reason to criticize her. However, in that dream, he was rarely unpleasant to her. On the contrary, he was quite perfect…

Hermione remembered when, six years ago, instead of going to Hogsmeade to have butterbeer and relax in the company of her new friends, she had preferred to make a little excursion to the towers of Hogwarts to identify the one in which she usually found herself in the dream. She had visited nearly all of them, and had begun thinking that the tower, too, did not exist. The last tower she visited dispelled that notion, though. It had the tallest spire and was located on the far south side of the castle, a mostly unused area. A set of spiral stairs made of dark granite had led upstairs. As soon as she had found herself in that abandoned tower, a very sharp sense of deja vu assailed her. She had felt faint with the jumbles of emotions that rushed towards her and pinned her in situ for a long while.

After she recovered, she had slowly walked about the place, unable to understand why her heart was beating so fast - as if she expected him to materialize from her dreams at any moment. She had known he would not, though. _She_ had been the one going crazy with those weird dreams, not him. The floor had been strewn with old discarded books, candle stubs, and white cushions. Underneath the cushions were two half-hidden, rolled-up parchments. Normally, she would never have opened someone else's paper to read what was inside, but on that occasion, she had been unable to stifle the curiosity gripping her.

On opening the two scrolls, the very elegant penmanship had caught her eye. "Could the handwriting have been his?" she had asked herself. The parchments had not seemed very old either. She had used the _Revelio Inkum Aetatis _spell to find out the date on which the author had written on the parchments. The spell was designed to reveal the age of writings not more than five years old. Hermione had been in her sixth year when the first parchment was written on. The writing was about how the author had been feeling. Hermione mentally quoted it.

"_I might not have tears in my eyes_

_I am a boy, I do not cry_

_But my heart is shedding tears of blood_

_It I stop it, I die_

_Life has strewn a path of hot embers for me_

_Barefoot I must walk_

_My clever Rose has been snatched away_

_And thorns stalk me along the way_

_I might not have tears in my eyes_

_I am a boy, I cannot cry"_

The writing on the other parchment dated a year later from the first. In that one, it seemed as if the author was trying to reassure the one he loved. Hermione could, however, feel that he had been trying to reassure himself at the same time.

"_Oh my heart, my love_

_It is just a brief parting_

_Bear with it bravely_

_Never cease smiling_

_Our destination is calling for us_

_Love is its name_

_Now is the Season of Separation_

_But it will pass away_

_The darkness will dissolve_

_The storm will abate_

_A path will be cleared_

_And we will reunite _

_Our destination is near_

_It is not an impossible dream_

_Oh my sweet one, don't cry_

_It is just a little wait…" _

Underneath this particular piece was something she had been unable to read: music notes.

Hermione reminisced about how she had sat in that ancient tower as the hours stretched by, holding those parchments close to her heart. Bittersweet emotions had assailed her, and she had felt the sadness of the author acutely. "He must have been a sensitive soul," she had uttered aloud. "What could have prevented him from being with the one he loved?" she had wondered. Sitting in that tower, alone with the thrumming silence, had been a surreal experience. She had wondered whether she was dreaming or awake, but she succeeded in convincing herself to get up and leave, for it was no use sitting there and feeling dejected. Could the war with Voldemort have been the cause of their separation? Or could it be that now, the author was already reunited with the girl he loved?

She had speculated about the identity of the author at that time. She still thought about it often, but had no answer. Could the author have been the boy who had taken to haunting her dreams? It could not be _him_, could it? Why would _he_ be writing things like that? It had then struck Hermione that she did not know much about the blond boy after all.

And it was a pity she could not identify the handwriting! She had never seen the handwriting of the former Slytherin prefect either! It was a shame. They had attended the same classes so many times before. It was also true, however, that he had never cared to be her friend; she had not cared about him either! Hating her for being a Muggle-born, he had always kept his distance from her. If _he_ had been the author, for whom could he have written such things? And why did she feel something faintly, only very faintly, akin to jealousy whenever she thought about that? Emotions could not be that irrational! Besides, they had to originate from some kind of legitimate source - such as shared past experiences; feelings stemming from the legendary Fountain of Dreams did not exist!

In that seventh year, Hermione had often caught herself looking at the Slytherin table, many times expecting to find the one who had been the Slytherin prefect seated over there, making some kind of joke at her expense. She had been unable to understand the slight, very slight tug at her heart when she found someone else seated in his place. The Slytherin common room must have been singularly dull without the blond prefect to animate discussions!

Without doubt, Hermione Granger had not missed Draco Malfoy; but, inexplicably, his absence had not left her indifferent.

…**.**

Hermione opened her eyes and sighed deeply again. The stars were coming out. Several bright ones twinkled in the distance. Big puffs of cloud lazily navigated across the night sky.

"Where was the Slytherin spoiled brat now?" she wondered. It was a real mystery. The feelings she had for the blond boy confused her, she having never felt those when the Slytherin brat prince had studied alongside her. It could not be romantic feelings. That was unthinkable! Could it be care then? She was curious as to what happened to him, but she was not concerned about him! No, she was honestly not! But now that he was gone, she felt queer and somewhat ill at ease.

She loved Ron, didn't she? But above all, didn't she deeply dislike the blond boy with the cold grey eyes? She had been together with Ron for six years now, and Ron had, understandably, been pressing her for them to get married. She always refused, telling him she did not feel ready yet. But she should have been, shouldn't she? They had been best friends, a friendship bond that had transformed into love. They should have been a very happy couple. Their relationship had suffered some strain lately, though.

Whenever she was with Ron, she felt as if she was being unfaithful. Indeed, it queerly felt as if she was betraying the boy in her dreams.

It was utterly unreasonable and unspeakably silly!

"I must contemplate a visit to St. Mungo's soon if this continues," thought Hermione.

A knock sounded on the door.

"Hermione, have you finished? Come quick, we're starving!" came Ginny's voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry to keep you all waiting. I'm coming in a moment!" replied Hermione.

"Don't worry, Hermione, I'm sure you look divine, as always! You don't want to give my brother a heart attack, do you?" joked Ginny. Hermione heard Ginny descending the creaky stairs two steps at a time.

"Ginny!" chuckled Hermione to herself. A swift glance at the mirror told her she had stood by the window far too long as the wind had ruffled her hair. She set about arranging it properly.

…

Meanwhile downstairs, Molly Weasley was busy setting the table. They were going to dine outside, in the garden, as the kitchen was too small and crammed to accommodate all the guests present. Mrs. Granger, Hermione's mother, was trying her best to help even if the moving kettles and pans, levitating jugs and plates, and gnomes that had to be constantly chased away puzzled and distracted her.

Penelope, Percy's fiancee, was helping Fleur and Angelina put the final touches to the garden. Soon, glittering golden and blue stars streamed from the sky, stopping only a few metres above their heads. A beautifully decorated banner saying '_Happy Birthday Hermione'_ hovered over the table. Small red and white hearts with flapping wings wafted from the leaves of the trees, and paper lanterns, in the form of lotuses opening and closing their large petals, hung from the branches.

"Stop there! Stop there, you naughty brats!" George entreated as he chased after the four-year-old Luke, who was Bill and Fleur's son. Luke, in turn, chased after the two-year-old, Kathy, who was George and Angelina's daughter. Kathy, on her part, ran after Chase, her three-month-old Labrador Retriever, who had stolen a lilac tinsel garland and was running away with its prize in its mouth. None of them paid the least attention to George.

Inside the house, Arthur Weasley was engaged in a lively chat with Hagrid, Mr. Granger, Percy, and Bill. Charlie, who was still in Romania, had sent an owl saying that he would be unable to come as he had to look after an injured baby dragon. Hagrid had greatly praised Charlie after hearing this.

Some distance away Harry, Ron, Luna, and Neville sat together, engaged in an animated conversation of their own. Presently, Ginny came down and joined them.

"Where has she been all this time?" asked Ron, annoyed. "Why do girls take so much time to get ready?" observed Ron, turning to Harry and Neville.

"Who knows!" replied Harry. Neville shrugged.

"You guys wouldn't understand!" replied Ginny. "Anyway, Hermione is coming right away."

"Oh, didn't you know, Ron," Luna intervened, "it is because of dreetles. They are miniature pixie-like creatures. They live in bedrooms and love to tie knots in well-combed hair. It takes time to talk to them. Often, to persuade them to go away, you have to sing a song to them."

"Ah, right," muttered Ron.

Harry, Ron, Neville, and Ginny eyed each other surreptitiously. In all those years, Luna had not changed! She still talked about invisible creatures nobody had ever heard of, except maybe her father, Xenophilius Lovegood.

"How was your last paper for the Auror Qualifying Exams, Ron?" asked Neville.

"It was okay, Neville. I might have messed up over the last question, though. Couldn't make the distinction between Bullswort Disguise and Bullswart Disguise. It fails me how knowing that could ever be of any use to an Auror! Even Harry here, who passed the Qualifying Exams two years ago, doesn't know the difference!"

"He is right!" replied Harry.

"I suppose Hermione would know the answer. Haven't you asked her?" Luna questioned.

"Oh, no need to bother her over this!" Ron brushed off the question, suddenly very interested in garlands decorating the ceiling.

"What about you, Neville? How does being a professor of Herbology at Hogwarts feel?" asked Ginny.

"I love it!" he answered. "Oh, the students are very naughty, and they answer back a lot. Not at all how we were like when we were students! But there are always some who are very interested in magical plants. We have been able to breed some Bombardier Anthora successfully! It is a cross between Yellow Monkshood and Indian Aconite. Very deadly, but extremely efficient to treat all kinds of poisonings. Its leaves are crushed to obtain the juice. A tiny drop of it diluted with healing moon tonic water will suffice."

"That's great, Neville! Have you already obtained a wizard patent for its use, though?" asked Harry. "I am sure it would be very useful in our tasks as Aurors."

"That's right," Ginny joined in. "It won't be of much use in Quidditch when I play with Holyhead Harpies, but Harry is always telling me about highly-venomous magical fauna and flora he comes across!"

"I have already filed a patent application with the Ministry. I hope it will be approved soon," beamed Neville. "I'm not the sole inventor of this, though."

"Who else helped you, Neville?" asked Luna.

"_The Passion Serpent_!" replied Neville, excited.

"Really! How is that?" shrieked Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Luna at the same time.

"As you all know, _The Passion Serpent_'s editor-in-chief hardly ever answers the millions of fan letters he receives," Neville stated.

"Yea, that is indeed very true!" replied Ginny. "I have written to him many times before! He never answers."

"He is amazing!" continued Neville. "You remember how three years ago, he published an extraordinary potion that could be used to heal those debilitated by the repeated use of the Cruciatus curse upon them. Thanks to that, my parents have been able to leave that ward at St Mungo's. They are still weak, but they can talk and use their limbs properly now. They'll be completely healed soon!" Neville wiped at his eyes. Happy tears had welled up in Ginny and Luna's eyes too.

"You are right, Neville. _The Passion Serpent_'s editor is bloody brilliant," said Ron.

"Yes. Well, I wrote to him many times before thanking him for the potion. He never replied. However, I was having a difficult time trying to find a way to use the juice of the Bombardier Anthora. I tried diluting it with many mixtures but they all failed. You know I have never been good at potions! I then decided to write to him, and he replied suggesting I use moon tonic water to dilute the dosage. And it worked!" laughed Neville.

"What is moon tonic water?" asked Harry, turning to his friends. "Sounds like I've heard about it somewhere!"

"I dunno, mate!" Ron shrugged. "You are right. It does sound familiar!"

"It sounds familiar because it featured in an old edition of _The Passion Serpent_. Two years back, to be exact," replied Luna.

"True!" exclaimed Ginny. "It is water that has been collected on a moonless night and kept in the dark, covered by a black scarf, until the next full moon. It is then taken out and placed outside, in a rose quartz bowl, during the whole duration of the full moon. Three different healing crystals are placed in the water. Muggles know about moon tonic water, but they don't know how to make it properly," she explained.

"Also, after placing the healing crystals in the water, you have cast the spell 'Sanare Aqua' to it," added Luna.

"Exactly!" agreed Neville. "Moon tonic water, as the name suggests, has very strong healing properties."

"I wonder what this crazy guy, Ladon Hydras, has been up to this time!" Harry said. "I suppose we'll find out tomorrow, in the next issue of _The Passion Serpent_. He seems to have a knack for tracking down dark wizards. It is almost as if he can read their minds! _The Passion Serpent_ is becoming something of an indispensable tool for Aurors."

"You are right, Harry! He has a flair for them. And he is always experimenting and inventing all kinds of spells and potions! He has got to be one of the most powerful wizards of our age!" added Ron.

"He sure seems brilliant. He is always solving countless mysteries, making new discoveries, and that column of his entitled 'Insight into the fascinating minds of witches' should be read by all men on Earth! I wonder how old he is!" sighed Ginny dreamily.

"Why do you want to know his age?" Harry asked, furrowing his brows.

"Don't be jealous, Harry!" Ginny chided teasingly.

"What? I'm not! For all the things he knows and has experienced, he must surely be an old wizard with white hair and a long floor-length beard!" exclaimed Harry.

"That can't be true, Harry," Luna joined in. "If he were really that old, he would not have been able to describe views of sunsets and sunrises on tops of mountains such as Kilimanjaro or Everest, or find out about rare magical animals and plants in the heart of dark impenetrable jungles. You cannot Apparate in those areas as they house powerful magic."

"That's true, man!" Ron said. "That guy is no Gilderoy Lockhart! He doesn't brag. He gets straight to action! You guys know what I have managed to get for Hermione's birthday?" asked Ron, looking very proud of himself.

"Ladon Hydras's autograph?" suggested Ginny offhandedly.

"How the hell did you know that?" Ron asked, stumped.

"YOU GOT LADON'S AUTOGRAPH?" shrieked Ginny. "How did you? I was just naming the present you would be least capable of getting for Hermione!" Ginny confessed.

"Well, you thought wrong, didn't you? It was very easy!" Ron beamed.

"But how did you?" Harry and Neville asked together, as utterly astonished as Ginny and Luna were.

"Well, I simply wrote a message to _The Passion Serpent_'s Headquarters requesting an autograph. I said that my girlfriend greatly admired the editor-in-chief and that since her birthday was in a week's time, whether it would be possible to have Ladon's autograph!" Ron answered. "You won't believe it! I received a small velvet box from _The Passion Serpent_ in less than an hour! It probably contains the autograph; I haven't opened it. It is best if Hermione opens it herself, first!"

"Wow! That's amazing! Ladon Hydras hardly ever gives any autographs! Hermione would be thrilled! I'm not going to bed until I have a look at it!" declared Ginny.

"I wonder why _The Passion Serpent_ came into existence only four years ago. Its very first edition was literally snatched by millions across the world! What could Ladon Hydras have been up to before that?" Harry reflected aloud.

"Nobody knows!" Ron answered.

"Yes, he is a very mysterious man!" Neville acknowledged.

"_The Passion Serpent_, although being a quarterly, has nearly put the Quibbler out of business," Luna confessed. "Thankfully we still have a very loyal, like-minded reader base! Father has always refused to read _The Passion Serpent_. However, I have found him secretly reading the magazine when he thinks I'm busy counting Jumping Scrumptraphs."

"What are Jumping Scrump-?" Ron started asking, but was interrupted by Molly Weasley who came in and announced that dinner was ready.

"Great!" shouted Arthur. "I'm starving. I tell you, Hagrid, the lunch at the Ministry of-" Arthur Weasley abruptly stopped in his sentence; his eyes, like those of everyone present in the room, had turned to the light steps descending the staircase. It was Hermione. She looked resplendent.

"Who would have believed kids, and a puppy, could be such mischievous imps?" George entered the room and broke the silence. He held a wriggling Kathy in his arms. Luke stood by his side with the tinsel garland around his neck, and Chase sat near him, his tongue rolling out in exhaustion.

"Wow! You look great, Hermione!" Ron said. Harry, Luna, and Neville nodded in approval.

"Good gracious, Hermione. Yer look more beautiful than a fairy, I tell yer!" Hagrid said.

"Yes, she looks very pretty in that dress!" Fleur reluctantly agreed.

"Thank- you!" Hermione replied, feeling her cheeks heating up.

"Such a beautiful daughter you have, Jenny!" Molly Weasley said, turning to Mrs. Granger.

"I'm proud of her!" returned Mr. Granger.

"Now, will you all stop embarrassing the girl?" Ginny asked, laughing.

"Yes. Yes. Let's go outside; dinner is waiting and so is our dear Hermione's cake!" Molly informed them warmly.

Hermione mouthed a silent 'thank-you' to Ginny.

As they walked to the garden, somebody else Apparated at the Burrow: Lavender Brown.

"Good evening, everyone! I hope I'm not late! Happy Birthday, Hermione!" Lavender said, walking to Hermione and handing a present to her.

"Oh thank you, Lavender!" replied Hermione in a falsely cheery tone. She glanced at Ron. She was not the only one to do so; the others were all looking at him a little frowningly. Ron stared at the ground, shuffling his feet.

"You people were expecting me, weren't you?" Lavender asked, wondering why everybody looked so wary.

"Of course we were, Lavender! Come, let's sit." Molly Weasley entreated. "Get another chair from inside, Arthur!" she whispered to her husband.

Other than this unexpected arrival, the evening unfolded smoothly. Everybody complimented Molly upon her excellent cooking skills. They had multiple toasts to Hermione's health and sang birthday songs for her. Near the end of the celebration, everyone felt quite tipsy. Hermione's heart overflowed with gratitude and love. She adored Ron's family, and she held all those gathered there dear.

Ron pushed his chair back and got up. He banged his half-emptied glass of mead on the table. "Listen to me, everyone. Listen to me. I have something to say!"

"What is it, Ron?" George enquired.

"I have something to say to Hermione," he replied. Ron drained the remaining mead. Hermione's heart was beating so fast by now that she gripped the edge of the chair and sat very rigidly. She had an idea of what Ron might say, but sincerely hoped he would not and would instead see the distress in her eyes.

"Her-mione, I will g-get straight to the p-point!" hiccupped Ron. Molly and Arthur Weasley were smiling brightly now and so were Hermione's parents. The rest seemed genuinely puzzled about what Ron was going to say.

"Hermione," he said from across the table, "marry me!" The table erupted in an uproar of cheers, claps, and congratulatory messages. Hagrid got up from his enormous chair and crushed Ron in a big hug. Only Lavender seemed somewhat crestfallen.

"Silence, silence everyone!" Ginny requested. "We haven't heard Hermione's answer yet!"

Feeling all eyes turning to her, Hermione stood up. "Thank you everyone for this wonderful, wonderful time. I will always remember it. I can't say how very touched I am. You are all so very important to me. Thank you, Mrs. Weasley—I mean Molly, for the dinner, and thank you all for the great presents!" Hermione said, her eyes sparkling with grateful tears. Everybody clapped and cheered again.

Hermione walked to the other side of the table and touched Ron's elbow. "Ron, can we talk for a moment in private, please?" she whispered.

"Hermione, I want to know your answer!" Ron said a little too loudly.

The table went silent.

"Oh go on, Ron!" Molly Weasley urged a short moment later.

"Excuse us, we'll be back soon!" promised Hermione. She walked inside with Ron, keeping a hand at his elbow to prevent him from stumbling on the stairs. Ron brushed her hand away, disgruntled.

They walked to Ginny's room, and Hermione closed the door.

"What is this, Hermione?" asked Ron, irritated. "Couldn't you give me an answer back there?"

"Why did you do that, Ron? I told you I'm not ready for marriage yet, you know I-"

"Why the hell are you not ready? Why is it taking you so much time?" Ron asked, adding an expletive after his question. "Look at Fleur, she married Bill when she was about twenty two years of age! Angelina and-"

"Ron, just because Fleur was ready to get married at that age, it doesn't mean that I'll be ready! I told you two weeks before that as long as-"

"I'm fed up with your excuses, Hermione! I have enough of waiting! Either you say you are going to marry me or get the hell out of my life! I want an answer now!"

"Ron, don't be so childish, giving me an ultimatum won't-"

"I SAID I WANT AN ANSWER NOW, HERMIONE!" bellowed Ron.

"Stop shouting, Ron, they will hear us downstairs!" a distressed Hermione urged. She drew out her wand from one of the drawers and pointed it at the door.

"Muffliato," whispered Hermione.

"Listen to me, please," beseeched Hermione. "I need time. Besides, we've been having fights several times these past months. The last one was only two weeks back. We cannot get married if we don't solve all this strain between us."

"Another pathetic excuse again! Lavender is so much better than you, Hermione!"

"What do you mean, Ron?" Hermione asked, frowning deeply, trying to hide her hurt.

"You heard right! Lavender is way better than you! She isn't a know-it-all who is always trying to show that she is more intelligent than her boyfriend in front of everyone else!" Ron continued ruthlessly.

"Ron! That isn't fair at all! I've never, never tried to-" Hermione started to say, tears freely falling from her eyes now.

"I won't feel sorry for you, Hermione! You think you are so above everyone else when in fact you're just a Mud-" Ron abruptly broke off.

"Finish that sentence, Ron!" Hermione said sternly. She angrily wiped at her tears. "I asked you to finish that sentence!"

For the first time since they had come into the room, Ron looked worried and utterly abashed. The effect of the mead he had been drinking evaporated at once.

"I—I didn't mean that. I'm—I'm truly sorry, Hermione. It's your birthday and—"

"It is only now you remember it is my birthday, after having said these hurtful words?" Hermione asked shrilly. "Couldn't you remember that before behaving in this foul way?" she reproached in a lower tone, feeling utterly drained.

"I should have—I—you are right, Hermione. Things aren't going all that well between us. I've hurt you." Ron paused. "I think it is better if we give each other some breathing space for a little while," suggested Ron half-heartedly.

"You might be right," Hermione slowly acknowledged, seating herself on the edge of the bed and burying her face in her hands.

Ron had not expected her ready acceptance of his suggestion. "I-I got this for you." He placed the small velvet box he had received from _The Passion Serpent_ on Ginny's table.

"Er…should I explain to the others that you are tired and have gone to bed?" Ron asked.

"Yes, thank you," Hermione said quietly, without looking up.

"Er…Everybody will be staying the night, as planned. Some of us will be camping in the garden. Only Hagrid and Lavender will be going back. Hagrid has to go to Hogwarts. And about Lavender, I invited her after our fight two weeks ago. It was in a fit of anger. Um…I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you." Ron said, attempting to engage Hermione into a conversation. Seeing that she was not paying him any attention, he walked out of the room still feeling deeply ashamed of what he had very nearly called her.

…**.**

As soon as Ron had closed the door, Hermione uncovered her face and reclined back on the bed. She stretched out her hand for a pillow and brought it close to her heart. After that beautiful evening, the short altercation with Ron made her feel quite vulnerable. The words he had thrown at her face were hurting her. But, strangely, only the words hurt - not the fact that she and Ron had temporarily split up. Their separation filled her with something oddly like relief; she couldn't be sure, though. It felt as if a stone pressed onto her heart. She did not want to examine her feelings. She just wanted to drift away.

"But I can't!" Hermione thought, bolting upright in the bed. The black cloud hovering over her disintegrated. She glanced at her watch. It was twenty-five minutes to eleven. The stone temporarily freed her heart. Indeed, Hermione was born at exactly twenty minutes to eleven at night! "Only five minutes left," she thought, "what will he send tonight?" Hermione jumped from the bed and started to-ing and fro-ing across the room. She spotted the little black box Ron had left on the table. She placed it in her handbag; she would look at it later.

She was not normally impatient, but she was now glancing at her watch at unreasonably short intervals. "This has to be the longest five minutes I've ever experienced!" she murmured to herself. As the first three minutes slowly stretched by, her enthusiasm started ebbing away. "Why am I so excited over this mysterious individual who waits for my birth time to send me flowers!" she wondered.

"It is as if he waits after everyone else has given me presents and wished me happy birthday! That makes no sense! Does he think his flowers unimportant? Is that why he sends them last, or does he think they _are_ important because he always sends them on my birth time?" Hermione muttered to herself. "Why doesn't he ever reveal who he is? I've had enough of it! I'll try to send him a message back and ask him about his identity!"

Just then, Hermione heard pecking sounds on her window. She couldn't stop the bubble of sheer joy that burst inside of her on seeing the two familiar parrots flapping their wings outside. Kiki and Bobo! Kiki was a female macaw, and she had bright yellow and blue feathers with a band of red on her head. Bobo was a blue-eyed male cockatoo. He had white plumage and a bright orange crest. They were both magnificent.

Hermione rushed to open the window. Kiki and Bobo flew in. Each held the handles of a flax bag, which contained beautiful flowers, in their strong curved beaks. They deposited the bag in Hermione's outstretched hands.

"Crazy gal talkin to herself, crazy gal talkin to herself!" Kiki cried as soon as her beak was freed. She flew onto the bed and started pecking at her feathers.

"Aww, dear Kiki, I'm not! I was just wondering why you both were taking so much time!"Hermione giggled.

Bobo, too, flew onto the bed. He stretched his white wings and bobbing his head eagerly, started singing. "Happy birthday to oo, happy birthday to oo, happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday to oo!"

"Wow! That was amazing! Thank you so much, my sweet Bobo!" Hermione laughed, clapping her hands. "Thank you for not saying I'm crazy!" she joked, moved and overjoyed on beholding the two birds who had always visited her on her birthday for six years now. Hermione fetched a packet of bird seeds. She put Kiki's food in a small plate. Kiki, unlike Bobo, didn't like eating from her hands. Bobo was always very affectionate, but Kiki did not like to be touched.

"Bobo," said Hermione as she fed the cockatoo, "can you tell me you master's name? Who is the marvellous person who sends you?"

"Noo, noo, noo!" came the shrill warning from Kiki. "Noo, noo!"

"Oh Kiki, can you at least tell me from where you have come from?"

"Kat…Kat…Katmandooo," answered Bobo, bobbing his head. Kiki moved next to Bobo and nipped at Bobo's wings disapprovingly. Bobo just went closer to Kiki and affectionately brought his head next to Kiki's. The macaw gruffly moved away.

"So your master is so far away, in Kathmandu…" Hermione reflected slowly.

Kiki suddenly deployed her bright wings and flew out of the window. Bobo seemed more reluctant to follow suit but, gently pecking at Hermione's hand, he too flew away!

"Wait, wait!" cried Hermione after them. "Tell your master I said thank-you!" she shouted.

It was a pity she could not extract any information from them! Such intelligent birds! Hermione's disappointment faded as her eyes fell onto the flowers. Instead, a radiant smile lit her face. The mysterious sender always sent her flowers. They had not been chosen at random, though. The flowers, she had discovered, always contained meanings. They were also a means through which he conveyed secret messages to her.

Six years ago, he had sent her Witch-hazels and Forget-me-nots. The first signifies 'spell' and the second stands for 'true love.' Then, on her nineteenth birthday, he sent her Gardenias and Viscarias; the one represents secret love, and the other encloses the request 'will you dance with me?'

On her twentieth birthday, she received Sacred Daturas – it was a way to tell her he had dreamt about her – and Primroses, which bear the confession 'I cannot live without you.' The following year, she received Red Tulips and Coral Honeysuckle. The combined message conveyed by those two flowers is: 'trust me, I love you.' A year ago, on her twenty-second birthday, she received Globe Amaranths, which profess unfading love, and Peach Blossoms, which aver 'I am your captive.'

This year, Kiki and Bobo had brought her a beautiful bunch of Claret Roses. They symbolize deep love. In their midst, she found a single Spider Flower. A thrill ran down Hermione's spine. This particular flower holds a very romantic plea: 'elope with me…'


	10. Chapter 9:The Mahavira Hill in Kathmandu

**Chapter 9:**** The Mahavira Hill in Kathmandu**

_How do I love,_

_When hundred years on Earth seem like but two days?_

_How do I open my heart,_

_When after two days, we'll separate?_

_It is not enough_

_Give me half a century to whisper tender things in her ears_

_Another hundred years to share a kiss with her_

_Give me another hundred years to hug her tight_

_Another hundred years to make love to her_

_Then, we'll have a compromise; a seven-day week_

_Only then will I let Kama's arrow pierce my heart_

_And only then will I not mind the blood that will leak…_

Kathmandu, Nepal

The dying rays of the sun kissed the beautiful pink-marble temple built atop Mahavira Hill. It was known as the Nataraja temple as it housed a bronze statue of the deity Nataraja, the Lord of Dance. The temple had a wide ten-pillared hall. Doors and windows were notably absent from its beautiful architecture. The wind playfully teased the numerous bells hanging from the dome ceiling. A troop of monkeys, having stolen fruit offerings consisting of bananas, coconuts, apples and oranges, was noisily gamboling in the yard. Soon, they would be making their way back to their cosily-nestled sleeping quarters in the branches of trees of the Mahavira Forest. Their pleasures were simple.

Ladon, drenched in sweat, sat down against a pillar of the temple. He sported white jeans, and a beige kurta open till the waist. The loose article of clothing flapped in the wind and hid little of his well-toned chest. There was a black G-clef pendant, which he rarely ever took off, around his neck.

Ladon rolled up the sleeves of his kurta, revealing a Japa mala made up of 108 ivory-coloured small beads - a number held sacred in Hinduism and Buddhism alike – wrapped around his wrist and stretching till the middle of his forearm. He then opened a can of beer and took a sip of the chilled drink. He had not had to use Muggle money to buy the drink. Indeed, as the Indra Jatra festival was currently being celebrated in Kathmandu, beer sprouted freely from Bhairava masks, and it was being liberally distributed in the streets.

Ladon closed his eyes as he listened to the soothing burbles and gurgles of the Bhote Koshi River lazily flowing by the side of the deserted shrine.

He had sent Kiki and Bobo on a secret expedition many hours ago. The parrots had had to drink a special potion before launching themselves on a long trip to England.

Today was her birthday, and she had to receive the flowers…Would she like them? How was she? Was she happy? She had to be. She was brilliant at her work. She had a loving family. She was in love with someone… Damn that guy. Was she being as deeply cherished as she - the compassionate, clever, and lovely Hermione Granger - deserved?

Ladon's mind called upon him to concentrate on other more urgent matters. His heart, however, protested.

He had constantly fought against his feelings for her, but their intensity had not diminished with the bittersweet passing of time; where she was concerned, the grains of sand in the hourglass had not only stilled, but had piled up to the bursting point. Yes, he had tried letting go of his feelings, tearing them from out of his heart and placing them in the palm of his hand. Like a scarf made up of rainbow pigments, he had let them slither over a little distance, caressed and lured by the whispery breeze; but he had ended up mercilessly pulling them back to him.

Letting go was beyond him.

The air around him seemed to adorn shimmery colours whenever he thought about her. It pulsed with something so incredibly fine and untamed he longed to close his fingers around it. His heart beat with a strange piercing rhythm; it writhed with an emotion so deep and yet so subtle – like the hushed, melancholic cry of a violin. He could not really understand the "whys" of things; he just went on feeling…

Oh, enough of introspection!

Sighing, Ladon finished the beer. He then grabbed the hilt of the sword that lay by his side and unsheathed it. The pause was over. On to some action! He stood to his feet and at once resumed his sword practice.

…

Dusk had fallen. Hiding the dagger behind her, she slowly walked towards the temple, making sure to remain in the shadows. She kept a hand on the wand in her pocket just in case she needed to retrieve it rapidly. She could see the tall man with the shoulder-length blond hair practicing alone. His lean body moved with a maddening feline grace. It was sheer delight watching his strong muscles flexing and contracting underneath the kurta as he skillfully swung a heavy sword about, ruthlessly slashing at the air. The atmosphere around him rippled with electricity.

She was very near now. His back was turned to her. Perfect. She would succeed this time. She raised the dagger to strike. All of a sudden, her world toppled upside down, and a pain shot up her back. She felt thoroughly disoriented, her eyes blinking in confusion, as she found herself lying on the floor, the sharp tip of a sword held perilously close to the vein in her neck. It was his intense silver grey eyes that speared through her, though.

Ladon Hydras was a strikingly handsome man.

"Claire, I should have known— the typical uninventive advance, the weak attack, and the mockery of a defense," he observed, pulling her up.

"Your back was turned! How did you manage to surprise me?" Claire asked wonderingly.

"Reflections, Claire. It's a full moon night, and you are walking around with a silver dagger. You were as unobtrusive as an elephant; _I_ allowed you to come near," he returned. Ladon took the ruby-encrusted dagger from Claire and started inspecting it.

"Where's your ring?" Claire enquired, noticing the bare, thin band of paler skin on his ring finger.

"None of your business, Claire," Ladon answered as he handed the dagger back to her. "Why are you here?"

"I missed you, Ladon! I haven't forgotten our night together, in the haystack," she drawled languidly. "Do you remember?" she asked in a whisper.

He came very close to her; one of his eyebrows lifted a fraction as he peered deep into her eyes. She shivered as she beheld those grey eyes with the queer splashes of dark blue. Behind the fringe reaching the top of his eyebrows was a long crimson tikka that contrasted marvellously with his dark blond hair and light-coloured clothes. The tikka was a mark men in that region of the world wore during prayer sessions. It was applied with the thumb, in the middle of the forehead, in a single upward stroke.

"I know you are an amazing Legilimens, Ladon, but don't tell me you need the help of Legilimency to remember what happened only a year ago! That's insulting!" Claire rebuked slightly, pouting.

"What's insulting is your thinking _I'd_ use Legilimency on an unworthy subject such as you," Ladon said, the shadow of a smile on his sinful lips.

"Oh Ladon, don't pretend you don't like me! Tell the truth, you still remember, don't you?" Claire caught one of his wrists.

"My mind does not dwell on such forgettable matters," he answered, turning away from her. His sword cut through the air and extinguished a whole range of the small oil lamps lit on one side of the temple.

"You are lying! It was the best time of my life! How can it be unimportant to you?" Claire shrieked angrily. "I can't get you out of my head, however hard I try!" He paid her no attention, but continued wielding the sword with breathtaking skill.

"Listen to me!" she cried out impatiently.

"Claire, I told you then and I am telling you now, it was a one night thing, nothing more. Forget about it," he answered coldly, still ignoring her. Watching him handling the sword with so much ease and proficiency, Claire almost forgot what she was about to say.

"You- You bloody hypocrite! How can you write that column 'Insight into the fascinating minds of witches' and then—and then treat me like this!"

Annoyed with her shrewish behaviour, Ladon placed the sword back at Claire's neck in a swift, dexterous move.

"Let me make this very clear, Claire," he said in a dangerous tone. "I told you, before I even touched you, that what would happen between us was going to be a mere satiation of our mutual desires, sex with no strings attached. You agreed. End of story."

Dark waves of anger emanated from him. Claire swallowed.

"Now go from here," he ordered, lowering the sword.

"Hey, I don't remember you ever being so serious! I was joking!" Claire broke into peals of laughter. Ladon eyed her with a steely glint in his eyes.

"You better be, Claire. You don't deserve to go through a heartbreak—if that dramatic display contained an ounce of truth—for someone like me."

"You don't have a heart, do you, Ladon?"

"Maybe not," he said as he continued to hone his sword fighting techniques.

"Don't you want to know the real reason I'm here, then?" Claire enquired.

"I am not in the least curious now," he replied drily.

"Well, I'll tell you anyway. I wanted to know if you could reveal some of the things that are gonna show up in tomorrow's issue of _The Passion Serpent_!"

"Do you think I'm going to reveal this to a woman who works for _Gossip Weekly_?" he stated with a hint of disdain.

"No other magazine or newspaper can compete with you, Ladon! It won't hurt if you could-"

"No."

"Okay, would you at least agree for an interview with—"

"No."

"Fine! Perhaps you could tell me who the girl you sent flowers to today is?" she asked, hoping to capture the whole of his attention.

"You've been spying on me these last few days, haven't you?" he stated, unaffected.

"How did you know? And why doesn't it seem to surprise you?" she reproached, not understanding the amusement in his voice.

"I told you, you are as unobtrusive as an elephant. You never fail to leave trails behind. Anyway, I saw you hiding behind that plum tree half an hour ago," Ladon laughed.

"Ohhh," muttered Claire, embarrassed.

"You are a witch, and yet, no good at concealment. You should use that brain from time to time, Claire."

He turned to face her and without uttering a word, promptly took out his wand and summoned Claire's wand to him, effectively disarming her.

"Now, should I transfigure you into a plum?" he asked teasingly.

"Only if you promise to eat me afterwards, darling…" Claire replied back sultrily.

"That is an option, but I'm not very hungry at the moment. The monkeys would appreciate you better," he countered.

Angry, Claire tried to throw herself at him, but missed as he effortlessly dodged out of her way. She once again fell down in an unflattering manner. Someone else would have laughed; Ladon didn't. He quietly extended a hand to her, his mesmerizing eyes glittering darkly. Claire could not help the thrill of expectation that zinged through her.


	11. Chapter 10: The Seven Wonders

**Chapter 10:**** The Seven Wonders of the Wizarding World**

Harry Potter woke up, lightly rubbing his eyes and reaching for his glasses. He had not slept very comfortably in the camping tent that had been set up in the garden. The women occupied all the rooms in the Burrow, and the men had spent the night outside. His head still felt a bit heavy, having had a drink too much the night before. He had had a legitimate reason to celebrate, though, for it had been the occasion of Hermione's birthday. Glancing at his watch, Harry noticed that it was nearly seven am. He got dressed and walked out of the tent.

The morning was still very drowsy. The sun's warm rays fell onto the leaves of trees. A bird was whistling happily, entreating his other friends to wake up and join him in greeting a new, fresh day.

Shielding his eyes against a shaft of sunlight, Harry peered at the horizon. Something was steadily approaching and, queerly, it had the shape of a small airplane. As it came nearer, Harry noticed that it was not _one_ object but a formation of dark red scrolls. At once, Harry felt a thrill of excitement shoot down his back. As the dark red airplane reached the Burrow, it gracefully disintegrated, and the scrolls whizzed in different directions to find the various subscribers.

One scroll arrowed in his direction, and Harry stood cross-eyed behind his spectacles as he tried to focus on the zooming missive. It moved faster than a Snitch, stopping just inches from his nose. It then slowly back-tracked another few inches away and swiftly unrolled itself. Harry tried catching it, but had to quickly retrieve his outstretched hand as the scroll burst into flames. Incredibly, a dragon, the size of a beer barrel, made entirely of limpid flames, materialized in the wake of the scroll. It opened its mouth, and as it started to speak, its flames, which were initially crimson, successively draped the tint of the seven rainbow colours.

"_The Passion Serpent_ for you, sir. We wish you a pleasant reading. Adieu and goodbye," the dragon said in a deep, remarkable voice. It instantly vanished after having handed the magazine to a dazzled Harry.

"Wow, I'm thankful those flames were harmless!" George confessed as he came out of his tent. "Ladon Hydras sure has style! Last year it was a pair of fighting swords, this year, a talking dragon that changes colour! He would have done great at Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes," George confided to Harry.

Harry nodded, he too thoroughly impressed. Harry walked inside the Burrow and sat down on a sofa, greedily perusing the fascinating magazine. A short time later, everybody had woken up. They were all currently lost in their own readings. Molly Weasley was the only one who did not have a subscription to the magazine. "That editor is too adventurous for my taste," she had complained. "You all here should not be liking this magazine so much; the editor won't survive long with all those dare-devil undertakings of his!" she had warned as she served breakfast.

"Mum! Touch wood, you shouldn't be saying such things!" Ginny had reproached.

"What? It's only the truth, Ginny," Molly Weasley had remarked. "Oh, Hermione hasn't come down yet. That's good, she must be tired, let her sleep some more," she had reflected. Just then, Ron had come in and wished his mother good morning.

Impervious to the little frown with which Molly Weasley had surveyed him, Ron had dragged himself over to where Harry sat. Ron's copy of _The Passion Serpent_ was still unopened.

"I need someone to talk to, Harry," Ron had said uneasily. "Harry, I'm talking to you!"

"Oh. Go on, Ron. I'm listening," Harry had answered, still not looking at Ron.

"Hermione and I had another fight last night," Ron started in a dejected voice, twitching his hands in his lap. "I don't think she'll ever forgive me. I- I love her, Harry, but—but I nearly called her by that disgusting word, Harry. I said—I told her she was a –a—HARRY, YOU'RE NOT LISTENING TO ME!" Ron had complained loudly.

"Ohhh, sorry Ron, you should really be reading this. You won't believe what's written in here!" Harry had said in a dumbstruck tone, clearly eager to return to his reading.

…...

_Three hours later_

The Conference Hall with its queer, wing-backed seats was located on Level One of the Ministry of Magic, the same level where the office of the Minister for Magic was found. At present, it swarmed with wizards and witches from various departments.

"Whatever are those wings for?" Hermione heard Ron muttering to Harry. She resisted the urge to inform both of them that if they had paid attention to their Hogwarts books, they would have known the funny story behind the chairs being fitted with wings. If she had not been wary of being accused of being a know-it-all again, Hermione would have told them that half a century ago, a very fat witch used to repeatedly fall to the ground since the chairs she sat on would inevitably collapse beneath her weight. The wings were not there to allow the chairs to fly away in case the fat witch were to approach them, but were simply a smooth adjustment mechanism that magically enhanced the sitter's experience and, of course, prevented the chairs from breaking.

Curiously, no one else talked to each other as they gained their seats, waiting for the conference to start in a quarter of an hour. Instead, they were all absorbed in rereading the issue of _The Passion Serpent_ they had received early in the morning. The magazine had created hullabaloo once again.

Many wizarding families with members working for the Ministry such the Weasleys, the Patils, the Browns, the Changs, the Edgecombes, the Vanes, the Zabinis, the Parkinsons, the Bulstrodes, the Greengrasses, amongst others, were present at this urgent convocation by the Minister for Magic. On a raised platform situated in the front of the hall, the heads of the various magical departments and offices were seated at a table. The velvet high-backed chair in the middle, reserved for the Minister for Magic himself, had not been filled yet. Arthur Weasley, who had been promoted to head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects, had temporarily closed his own copy of the magazine and was conversing in low tones with Madam Edgecombe, head of the Floo Network Authority.

Molly Weasley, too, had closed her magazine and surveyed her husband with a deepening frown. Close to her sat Ron with the rest of the Weasleys, and at the far end of the same row of chairs Ginny sat next to Hermione. Even if Ron had lied that Hermione had gone to bed tired last night and thus could not come down to carry on with the birthday celebrations, everybody had guessed that things were not going quite that well between the former best friends.

"Do you think they've summoned us because of what appeared in _The Passion Serpent_?" Ginny asked anxiously.

"I think so, Ginny. This matter is very serious. I suppose the Ministry will want to contact Ladon Hydras," Hermione shared in an equally grave manner.

"I would never have thought the grisly murder of those five Muggle students and their professor could be related to what Ladon has exposed," Ginny avowed.

"Neither have I." Hermione shivered slightly; someone walked over her grave, she thought. "We don't know what happened to the professor, Ginny. His body has not been found. It is only known that he is a wizard. If what Ladon affirms proves to be true, the wizarding world will have to confront yet another terrifying evil."

"It's true that every witch or wizard has heard about the Seven Wonders of the Wizarding World at one point in her or his life, mostly when we were still kids! That story is in wizard children's storybooks! You would never think the Seven Wonders were real!" Ginny said.

"You are right, Ginny. It was never mentioned in any of the Hogwarts textbooks. Believe me, I am sure I would have remembered something like that. But we still don't know whether they do exist or whether Ladon Hydras might have made a rare mistake. I don't think he'll ever write things like that just to create sensationalism," Hermione affirmed.

"Don't tell me you've read Mum's copy of _Gossip Weekly_, Hermione!" Ginny reflected shrewdly.

Hermione's cheeks flushed with colour. "Of course not! No, I— Well okay, I did read the bit about Ladon," Hermione was obliged to confess as Ginny glared at her accusingly.

"Well, I shouldn't be acting that outraged! I, too, read it, noticing the featured article on Ladon. I had hoped to see a picture of him, but it was only filled with that silly woman Claire's ramblings! She just bragged about how she had once dated Ladon and how he was a 'notorious playboy affected with severe memory problems, who does, says, and writes things to have witches fall into bed with him and then forgets their names the next morning'," Ginny quoted.

"True, she does sound like a woman scorned, and she is clearly abusing her position as a journalist to settle a personal score with Ladon Hydras. I don't think this will affect Ladon's reputation, though. Only jealous females might be swayed into doubting his writings because of the mud slinging in _Gossip Weekly_."

"You were one of those jealous females, weren't you?" Ginny exclaimed, grinning.

"No! Don't rave, Ginny. Ladon Hydras might be a fifty year-old man for all we know!" Hermione was quick to respond. "It is what I think that Claire girl has wanted to do. It is clear that she was trying to make readers of _The Passion Serpent_ doubt what was going to appear in the current issue, desperate to find a way to discredit him."

"Ladon has proven himself in this field, Hermione. Few people will really be swayed by an article in _Gossip Weekly_. All kinds of wizarding expeditions are regularly organised on the basis of what he reports, and they are all successful - granted that this bit of reporting in one of the seven sections of _The Passion Serpent_, 'News you should all be concerned about', is a tad bit more extraordinary than his other amazing articles." Ginny paused before continuing. "If Voldemort had believed a story out of a wizard child's storybook, he might have gone after the Seven Wonders!" she stated grimly.

"He might indeed have. Although we don't know who is really after the Seven Wonders - if these exist for real, and if there is truly a link of the kind Ladon wants to establish, that wizard might be no less dangerous than the vile Dark Lord," Hermione observed.

"Oh, let's talk about something else!" Ginny interjected, repressing a small shiver. "Hermione, I know I shouldn't be interfering, but I heard my silly brother shouting last night, did you guys fight again?" Ginny enquired.

"Yes, Ginny. Ron and I have agreed to give each other some breathing space. I think it's better this way," Hermione sighed.

"My brother is a fool! Inviting Lavender like that was-"

"We didn't fight because of Lavender, Ginny," Hermione interrupted. "I think we are both at fault if our relationship is sailing through rough seas. This has lasted for quite a while now, hurting both of us. It was time to put an end to this," Hermione stated.

"Put an end?" Ginny shouted, surprised, before quickly lowering her tone as a few eyes turned in their direction. "You just said you were merely giving each other some breathing space!"

"Yes, yes, Ginny, that's what I meant, but-"

"I'm so looking forward to having you as sister-in-law, Hermione!" Ginny confessed.

Hermione was on the point of answering but stopped as a shadow fell across them.

"Look who we have here, Millicent," Pansy Parkinson remarked contemptuously to the sniggering, stout woman next to her. "The Mudblood and the Weasels," Pansy continued in a low voice so that only Hermione and Ginny could hear what she said.

An incensed Ginny had started to retrieve her wand from her pocket, but Hermione stopped her.

"Get moving, Pansy, if you don't want to be jinxed to death," Hermione muttered, tight-lipped. The foul epithet which Pansy had attributed to her had brought back what Ron had nearly called her the night before. Was she never going to be rid of hearing herself called that way? Six years had passed since she had last heard herself addressed so disparagingly, and then that respite had been broken by Ron the previous evening, and now by the despicable Pansy Parkinson.

In the wizarding world, there was a saying along the lines that the wizard or witch who starts something must also be the one to put an end to it; otherwise, the matter will go round and round in a circle. The one who had first called her 'Mudblood' had disappeared. Well, she still secretly met him in a softly lit, abandoned tower, but it hardly counted! Wherever he was now, did he still think of her as having soiled blood? _He_ had started this whole name-calling; was it true that only he could put a stop to this, that then nobody else would dare call her that way again?

"See this?" Pansy flaunted the enormous diamond ring on her finger. "I'm engaged to Teddy Bagwell, of course you know he is one of the richest men in the whole of England; he is the head of the department you work for! You'll have to die and be reborn before Weasel King could get you something like this!" Pansy remarked before walking away, she and Millicent laughing uproariously.

"I have ALWAYS hated that cow!" Hermione exclaimed. "She is always horrid and conceited. Teddy Bagwell is a nice man. I wonder what he sees in that repulsive thing. Remember how she was always stuck to Malfoy back in Hogwarts?"

"Yes, she is disgusting. But it doesn't surprise me that Malfoy seemed to have liked her; they are both of the same ilk!" Ginny remarked carelessly. Hermione could not explain why Ginny's saying that Malfoy liked Pansy disturbed her. She remembered how she had hated seeing Pansy draped across Malfoy on more than one occasion – all those times when Gryffindor had had combined lessons with Slytherin, or the time when Malfoy had exaggerated his being injured by Buckbeak.

She vividly recalled how livid she had felt the time when she and Ron had been designated prefect, and they had had to regain the prefect carriage onboard Hogwarts Express. She had known that Malfoy would have been chosen as the Slytherin Prefect, but she somehow had not expected to feel the white-hot anger that besieged her when she discovered that Pansy was the girl chosen to act alongside Malfoy. It had not been jealousy, she had been sure; but she had also not known what it was!

"As happily engaged as Pansy seems, I can't think that she once seemed so very fond of Malfoy," Hermione shared gloomily.

"C'mon, Hermione, you can't be that old-fashioned! It's been six years, and there is still no news of that Slytherin brat! You can't expect that gold-digging cow, Pansy, to be withering away like the proverbial English Rose, waiting for Malfoy to make a shamefaced reappearance!" Ginny chided.

"He doesn't need to make a shamefaced reappearance, Ginny. You already know that he was being blackmailed by Voldemort to do all those things he did. It's not that-"

"Don't tell me you are taking the side of that despicable guy! He might have been blackmailed, but I think a part of him must have enjoyed doing those horrible things-"

"No, that can't be true! Only Voldemort was heartless enough to actually enjoy inflicting pain; Malfoy was merely a student trapped on the other side. He didn't even have a choice, Ginny." Hermione was not sure what was prompting her to defend him, but she felt strangely compelled to do so.

"Gosh, I can't believe my ears, Hermione! What's happening to you? First you break off with my brother, and then you start virtually extolling praises of Malfoy?" Ginny whispered fiercely.

"I'm not singing his praises! And my breaking off with your brother has nothing to do with Malfoy—"

"I never said it had anything to do with Malfoy," Ginny interrupted once again. "Why did you assume that?"

"This argument is going nowhere, Ginny. Let's just end this here," Hermione answered, cheeks heavily flushed. She had nearly betrayed herself. It was true Ginny had not accused her of breaking up with Ron because of Malfoy, but in Hermione's own mind, that haunting dream played a large part in it. Even if Ron had been the first to suggest they separate, she had promptly acquiesced, without feeling depressed over that decision. She had only felt bad over the way Ron had addressed her; their agreeing to part ways had instead flooded her with relief.

To distract her mind from those wandering thoughts, Hermione followed Ginny's example and started rereading the article that had caused such wild agitation in the wizarding world.

...

_**News You Should All Be Concerned About**_

_Last week I met an old drunkard wizard in a decrepit, badly lit tavern in Sarando, a hamlet found in Northern Egypt's outback countryside. His clothes were filthy and tattered, one of his hands was badly mangled, three of his front teeth were missing, and the rest of his Muggle companions were in about the same sorry state, minus the disfiguring injuries. My presence did not seem to perturb or ruffle them; it goes to show how much I can blend with them. I didn't even have to use Polyjuice Potion._

_Heads lowered conspiratorially and heavily callused hands clasping small glasses of locally-concocted liquor, they were discussing the recent flash flood that had destroyed their rice crops, and how their children had to sleep on empty stomachs. Quite unexpectedly – for someone who is not used to frequenting the said tavern, that is - the subject veered to wizards and magic. The Muggles did not seem in the least surprised when the drunkard wizard started telling them tales of ancient wizarding battles, or the one Quidditch match that he had seen when he was twenty years old. It is indeed characteristic of drunkards, Muggles and wizards alike, to recount the events that have marked their lives, over and over again, when they happen to be under the influence of alcohol. This bunch was no different. _

_First, let me say that it was not by accident that I found myself in that particular tavern. I had gone to the old wizard's village first, and his beautiful, shy daughter told me where I could find her father. Now, onto why I set out in search of that particular man._

_You must remember the murder of five British Muggles, who were archaeology students, which took place a week back in Egypt. The Egyptian Ministry of Magic was quick to pass off the murder as the work of a pack of starving hyenas. The Egyptian Minister for Magic has had personal conferences with the British Muggle Prime Minister as well as the British Minister for Magic concerning this ghastly episode. Muggle police and pathologists have had to be confounded as it would soon have become clear to them that no hyena could be capable of the unspeakable savagery inflicted on the bodies of the students. Nobody knows what happened to the wizard professor who had accompanied them._

_I made a trip to Egypt as soon as I learnt about the murders. The cave where the Muggle students were doing excavation works is located in a remote part of the Sahara, and it reeked with remains of ancient magic. In one part of the cave was an intricately carved black box which was, incidentally, no box but a device built in the earth itself. The lid of the 'box' was wide open and if you let yourself down the box, it gave on a huge underground cavern. A yet unidentified magical creature had been imprisoned there for centuries, quite possibly millennia, gone by. You must be wondering whether that creature might have killed the five students. It is possible, but you have to remember that the fate of the wizard professor is still not known. _

_Let's move on. I spoke with the Muggle nomads who had brought the students to this impressive, antediluvian cave. From them, I was able to learn about the legends that have passed down from one generation of this nomadic tribe to the next. One particular story is of interest to us. _

_This story is about how the elders of Haaraya village, who were called Wirous, had once imprisoned a ferocious creature underground. Haaraya village existed about 6000 years ago, where instead of the desert, lush grassland and abundant wildlife had thrived. With time, as the desert inexorably encroached on the grassland, the people of Haaraya immigrated to other places, more specifically, to Sarando. _

_The nomads believe this to be only a legend, but they recount how Merua cave was a place their grandparents always forbade them from ever visiting. Now, it is clear that this is not a mere story; it actually happened, and the creature has obtained its liberty at last. Of course, wizards were present in order for the Wirous to proceed with this dangerous undertaking. The nomads believe that the Wirous' Head Priest was, in fact, someone who was skilled in witchcraft. _

_This true tale becomes even more fascinating. The nomads were able to give me a name: Lydian. Lydian was another man adept at witchcraft, and he was, purportedly, the best friend of the Head Priest. For those in the wizarding world, the name Lydian is not unfamiliar. He lived six thousand years ago and he was the only wizard who could, being an exceptional Animagus, transform into a dragon. The nomads were also able to tell me that those two great wizards had come into possession of two unique, ancient manuscripts on one of their adventures. The manuscripts were none other than Papyro Ithicuses! Story from a wizard child's storybook? No. It is real; I have seen one._

_Travelling to Sarando, I learnt that one of the elders of the village was more revered than the rest. It turns out that person is the old drunkard wizard; he is a descendant of the Head Priest of the Wirous, and, hold your breath, he had a Papyro Ithicus in his possession! _

_I tried to find what happened to Lydian's identical manuscript; no luck there._

_As you already know – if you don't, pick up the story book of any wizard child and read, you are likely to find it very informative – the Papyro Ithicus is an ancient manuscript most of us think of as an old myth, a fabrication meant to entice imaginative minds. Only two manuscripts were ever made - by whom, it is not known. These two manuscripts indeed show the location of the other five Wonders of the magical world. The old wizard I met had tried, on countless occasions, to put his hands on the Wonders, but he has not been successful so far. He fiercely cherishes his manuscript and would not let me have more than a cursory glance at it. What I was able to see, I'm going to relate to you. Who knows, maybe some of you already have one of those Wonders by your side, but are unaware of it. _

_First, a few things need to be made clear. _

_The original Papyro Ithicus is a map; even if the Wonders have been removed from their original places, it shows you their exact location. You have to concentrate on the Wonder you want to locate, and its position will appear on the map. This is an exercise that must be done in pairs; two people need to concentrate on the one Wonder they want to locate for its position to be revealed by the Papyro. It must be noted that no copies can be made of the Papyro Ithicus. The only copies that you can make, and which I have included in this issue of The Passion Serpent for your perusal, are those that merely disclose the country in which the Wonders are located. Such copies do not reveal the exact location. It is only when you have the original Papyro Ithicus in your possession that you can go hunting for the Wonders; otherwise, it is the same as looking for a wand in a muddy lake where the Accio spell does not work. _

_Below is a brief description of the Seven Wonders, and further information about their location. A trip to the excellent Emerill Archeus Wizarding library in London will provide you with even more information. You must be wondering why I am revealing all this instead of going on a trek and discover all the Wonders for myself, but I have a purpose behind all these revelations. My aim is in fact to get more people to go looking for them. You all need to be warned that going on a hunt for the Wonders is no easy task; it is indeed a deadly one. Countless obstacles will be set in your way, and death is awaiting the one who is unable to cross even the very first. All those who value their lives, refrain – this is not for the faint-hearted, and it is not a joking matter. The greater the number of people setting out in search of the Wonders, the greater are the chances that the Wonders will fall into the hands of amateur wizards who will not know how to use the Wonders. Only very highly skilled wizards can get a Wonder to work. Those who are wise and capable of using it will not do so. Those who are unwise, dangerous, and who have a thirst for power and bloodshed will use it. _

_The grisly massacre in Egypt might not be a one-off occurrence. It could happen more frequently; everyone has to stay on their guard in the coming days. It is likely that the creature who had been imprisoned for about six millenia was aware that the Head Priest and Lydian had each a Papyro Ithicus in their possession. It is also very possible that the creature has somehow gotten hold of Lydian's manuscript. This creature has broken through extremely powerful magic that had been holding it captive; it will most certainly be able to activate a Wonder if it comes into its possession. If this happens, havoc will be wreaked in the world. The creature must at all cost be prevented from reuniting the Seven Wonders. This is the chief reason why I am revealing the existence of the Papyro Ithicus. _

_Remember, if you do decide to go and try to find the Wonders, you might cross paths with the ruthless creature after them. Beware._

_The old drunkard wizard I met in the tavern is not going to stay in Sarando for his own safety; he has already moved to another place. Forget about tracking him. _

_**The Seven Wonders of the wizarding world**_

_**1. Papyro Ithicus**_

_Description : There are only two of them. The Papyro itself is a Wonder. A Papyro Ithicus is a horizontal scroll of parchment which shows the location of five other Wonders. The seventh one is not shown on the map, you'll know why later. Careful; though it can be extremely difficult, a very powerful wizard can forge the location of one Wonder on the Papyro. However, when he does so, he'll have to replace the Wonder with another powerful object. He will also be compelled to leave a clue about the location of the Wonder if he forges its original location on the map. This forgery can only be done once. If someone comes into possession of all the Seven Wonders, the location of Terra Incognita will be revealed; it is said to be the place where the Seven Wonders need to be reunited._

_Effect : Ancient books and legends recount that the wizard who reunites the Wonders on Terra Incognita will be able to usurp the powers of any wizard, if he so chooses. He will be capable of evil of the worst kind. _

_Status : One Papyro Ithicus is in possession of the Wizard from Sarando; the location of the second one is unknown, but highly likely to be in the creature's possession._

_**2. Hermit Mystery**_

_Description : The Hermit Mystery is a coined-sized, flat emerald stone that was made by ancient wizards in Kathmandu. It originally adorned a Bhairava Mask. It has now been turned into a ring._

_Effect : The Hermit mystery has the power of instant healing. It, however, also makes you forget what pain is. Pain is what makes you human. If you cannot feel pain, you will not be human anymore; and you will be all the more dangerous._

_Status : It has been in my possession for a while now, but until I met the drunkard wizard, I was unaware of it being a Wonder. It has now been given to a very capable, intelligent, and lovely lady. Your map will inevitably show you where the ring currently is: England. If you are indeed planning to go looking for a Wonder, you can erase the Hermit Mystery from your list as it has already been found. _

_**3. Peruvian Sun**_

_Description : It is, as the name suggests, of the shape of a small sun. It adopts the bewildering spectrum of colours the sun itself manifests. You CANNOT touch the Peruvian Sun with your bare hands._

_Effect : The Peruvian Sun gives you mastery over foliage, forests, plants, and heat. If you have it in your possession, you will be able to master fire._

_Status : As your map will indicate, it is in Peru. To give you another clue - and something which your copy of the map will not show - the Peruvian Sun is reputed to be in a secluded, palace-sized Charnel house. Therefore, if you don't like waddling amidst smiling human skulls and heaps upon heaps of bones, do not go looking for it. Remember, extremely dangerous magic protect Charnel houses. Be careful of the Peruvian bone-eating Scarab Beetle. They are known to prefer the healthy bones of living humans rather than the dead._

_**4. Icarybus Crystal**_

_Description : It is an extremely fragile crystal ball said to have been made around 333 BC. The Icarybus Crystal casts aurorean lights in the chamber in which it is displayed, and it can only be held by a woman._

_Effect : Better than the Mirror of Erised, it truly shows you the future. However, more likely than not, if you succeed in making use of it, you will most probably not like to see the fate in reserve for you there. As I said before, wise souls will NOT be making use of any of these Wonders. The lethal danger they represent outweighs the delights they might bring you._

_Status : Its location, as shown by your map, points to Romania. Research further indicates that it is in some kind of cave. You have all learnt of the types of dark magic and mysterious creatures living below ground. Venture with caution._

_**5. The Cursed Violin**_

_Description : Accounts of it in ancient books describe it as being made of the dark red wood of the now extinct Euscakypta._

_Effect : The Cursed Violin can produce the most unimaginably beautiful music ever. Muggle children are familiar with the story of The Pied Piper of Hameln. This story also has many variations and in one such tale, the musician is not a piper but a violinist. In the Pied Piper story, the piper was able to rid the city of rats. The rodents became entranced by the music he made, and he thus lead them to the sea and drowned them. He was promised money for this enterprise, but the townspeople refused to pay him. Some time later he came back and instead of rats being lured by the music, he enticed children and forever disappeared with them. There might be some truth in this story. The Cursed Violin can entrance any human being. The one who hears the music becomes a slave of the one who plays the Violin. Tempting. _

_Status : The location indicates England. The price of touching this violin is a human life. With such a price, NO ONE should go looking for it. Still, it needs to be found before the creature who will not hesitate to kill yet another person in order to get such a Wonder._

_**6. The Lovers' Heart**_

_Description : This is a wonder for romantic folks. True to its name, it has the shape of a heart and it is ruby red, not dissimilar to the colour of a thoroughly kissed lady's lips. It is said that the Lovers' Heart was made by two lovers. This pair of lovers, a wizard and a witch of different castes, were not allowed to mingle. Their love was an abomination to their families. Do not take out your handkerchiefs yet; they did not have a tragic ending. Ancient Indic books relate that the lovers eloped and had their happily ever after. The lovers wanted to have a symbol representing the very strong love they felt for each other. They created the Lovers' Heart._

_Effect : This Wonder can create love, evidently much more potent than any love potion. Again, however, this will be something forced – an illusion. Love is born naturally, not created. It can give rise to destructive obsession. Nonetheless, the most important function of the Lovers' Heart is that it can reveal ancient lovers. Not ancient in age, but people who have been lovers in their past lives. It is a belief held by countless civilisations who believe in reincarnation, ancient and modern alike, that true love is very rare, but, those who do experience it have the same mate in each of their following lives. Their physical features might be different, but their souls are the same. The lovers thus belong to each other across ages, and even across death it seems. One can understand why the story of the Seven Wonders of the Wizarding World has been relegated to children's books; this story falls nothing short of being ludicrous, but it seems to be true. _

_Status : Located in Cambodia, as shown by the Papyro Ithicus._

_**7. Fire from the Arctic Willow**_

_Description : You must be thinking that anyone can obtain a few twigs of the Arctic Willow and light a fire. True, anyone can. But it will not be a Wonder. The pair of lovers indicated by the Lovers' Heart will have to light the fire. _

_Effect : The properties of this Wonder are very much unexplored._

_Status : Obviously, it is the only Wonder which is not shown on the Papyro Ithicus for twigs of the Arctic Willow are readily available. Not everyone comes across ancient lovers, though. _

_Will you find a Wonder?_

_As I said before, this is not a task for amateurs. Most of you will not be able to find any of them. Our old drunkard from Sarando, even though possessing a Papyro Ithicus, has wasted his entire youth in this mad quest._

_What do you do if you find a Wonder?_

_The wisest thing you can do is to lose no time in returning it to your respective Ministry of Magic. Not doing so will put you and your family in mortal peril. Do not forget that an unknown entity, who has not dithered to commit savage murder, is also after the Wonders._

_Nota Bene:_

_The makers of the Papyro Ithicuses are NOT the makers of the other five Wonders. Each Wonder has its own story. The makers merely gathered their location on a map. The makers were, of course, wise wizards; they knew better than trying to use the Wonders for their own ends. Whether it is mere coincidence that reuniting those seven magical objects can make you one of the most powerful wizard to have ever lived is not known. _

_I reiterate what I have said before; only go on such a search if you do not fear losing your lives, or endangering the lives of your loved ones. I do hope you live to read the next issue of The Passion Serpent. Until then, stay safe._

_Adieu and Goodbye,_

_Ladon Hydras_

...

Having read the incredible article for a third time, Hermione closed her magazine. She was wondering why Ladon always finished his articles with "Adieu and Goodbye". He surely knew that both words meant the same thing, only that 'adieu' was the French version of 'goodbye'. Queer idiosyncrasy.

The sound of many magazines being folded was very audible as Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic, entered the Conference Hall. Harry was by his side, and he had a special place at the table in the front. Everybody expected Harry to be promoted to the head of the Auror Department soon.

The Minister for Magic did not take his seat at the middle of table. Instead, he stood at the edge of the podium and started talking.

"Good morning, friends. You must all be wondering why your routines have been disrupted as well as the reason behind a conference being urgently called. I am sure you must all have an idea by now.

Last week, a ghastly incident took place in the Merua Cave found in Egypt. Five British Muggle students were brutally killed. I have seen their bodies. It is confirmed now that this horrific massacre has been done by either a dark wizard or an unknown creature. The five archaeology students were accompanied by a wizard Professor, Mr. Laurence Alcott, on their expedition. He is known for his keen interest in wizarding archaeology that relates to the Dark Arts, and he has taught not only in many wizarding schools, but also in Muggle universities. Mr. Alcott has not been found. Searches are continuing.

I am sorry to be announcing another rather grim piece of news. Another eminent wizard professor and his family have been killed in the course of the night in Bristol. These innocent people have been killed in the same modus operandi as the five Muggle students; that is, their heads were decapitated and each one of their limbs was ripped from their bodies.

As most of you read _The Passion Serpent_, you must be aware of the very serious claims advanced by Mr. Hydras, notably those relating to the Seven Wonders of the Wizarding World and a dark creature or wizard going after them. _The Passion Serpent_ is a magazine used by many ministries around the world and, so far, everything reported, including the conjectures of Mr. Hydras, have proven to be true.

Just a few minutes ago, I had a conference with the heads of the Ministries of Magic of a hundred and fifty three countries. We all agree to coordinate our efforts in losing no time in digging the truth in this matter. No one wants to see a repeat of the events of six years ago. A World Conference is going to take place as soon as next week and, naturally, Mr. Hydras will be requested to come and share all that he knows concerning this very serious matter.

I am going to issue a communiqué to the public as well as warn the Muggle Prime Minister of the need to be cautious. All those wizards who, after having read _The Passion Serpent_, are planning to go find the Wonders will need to be deterred. This is something only well-trained Aurors will be capable of undertaking. As you are aware, an International Magical Pass is now required before a wizard can Apparate in another country. As this pass is only granted to heads of Ministries of Magic, an influx of wizards will be travelling to other countries via the International Land Express, which will need to strengthen its security system.

I have decided to send our specially trained Aurors to find the Wonders. Mr. Hydras, who is of British origin, will have to reveal to whom he has given the Hermit Mystery so as the precious object could be kept in a safe place, under strict surveillance. We also hope he will agree to help us find the Wonders. Obviously, other countries will also be sending their own Aurors on this task. We agreed that it is imperative that our trained agents reach the Wonders before the creature, who has escaped a six thousand year long imprisonment, could get hold of them.

Moreover, not only Aurors will be involved in this enterprise. Brave people who have helped in the downfall of Voldemort will also be lending their help to the Ministry.

First of all, I have decided to send our very capable Miss Granger to find Mr. Ladon Hydras."

At this, the entire Conference Hall turned to look at Hermione enviously. Hermione was so astonished she was unable to acknowledge what the Minister had just announced. No one had ever seen what Ladon Hydras looked liked, and no one knew where the Passion Serpent Headquarter was found!

"Miss Granger, rumours have it that Mr. Hydras is in Cambodia. This piece of information has been conveyed to me by the Cambodian Minister for Magic himself. However, his precise location is not known. It will be your task to seek out Mr. Hydras and persuade him to attend the World Conference that will take place in seven days time. His purported location betrays that he might be looking for the Lovers' Heart; you can also assist him in finding that particular Wonder and bring the Wonder back to England. Are you agreeable to this, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Sir, I hope I will be able to accomplish this assigned task as best as I can," Hermione managed to answer. She pretended not to notice the way Romilda Vane, Padma Patil, Pansy, Milicent, and even Ginny were glaring at her. She could actually feel the curses being directed towards her by most of the females in the hall for having been given the task to find Ladon. She tried not to pay attention to them and started mentally counting the number of books she would need to read before setting out on this job. She would have to find a book on the geography of Cambodia, and many others on its wizarding history.

"I knew the Ministry could count on you, Miss Granger. You can now leave the Hall and meet me in my office in half an hour's time," Kingsley Shacklebolt delivered proudly.

As soon as Hermione started getting up from her seat, Lucius Malfoy strode up to the dais and addressed the Minister.

"My dear Minister, allow me to express my strong disapproval that this ...this girl here be given the task of persuading Mr. Hydras. She CANNOT be trusted with such an important-"

"Mr. Malfoy, I'm sorry to say you are not in a position to disagree. You are allowed in this conference hall only due to the influence you have had with former administrations. Miss Granger is one of the most capable and clever witches working for the Ministry. She can undoubtedly be trusted to properly carry out this task. However, I will allow you to voice out on which ground you think Miss Granger will not be able take this task to completion."

"Thank you, Minister. Mr. Ladon Hydras is obviously himself a powerful and clever wizard. The 'Lydian' he mentioned in his article is Lydian Hydras, the wizard from whom the Malfoys descend. Clearly, one of the Papyro Ithicus belonged to our family. I-"

"Now you'll claim that you are related to Ladon Hydras!" someone exclaimed from the back, and everybody broke out in peals of laughter.

A dark flush swept across Lucius Malfoy's face. The time when he enjoyed much influence with the Ministry was well gone.

"I am not claiming to be related to Mr. Ladon," Lucius Malfoy interjected. Kingsley Shacklebolt made small silencing motions with his hands and the laughter subsided into sniggers.

"I'm saying that I should be involved in this enterprise because the Papyro Ithicus belongs to the Malfoys. Also, Mr. Ladon must surely be a pure-blood; Miss Granger cannot—"

"Do you propose that your son be given this task, Lucius?" Arthur Weasley intervened. Again the audience started laughing. Hermione did not feel like laughing at all. Her heart was thumping painfully against her chest. That Lucius Malfoy should object to her being given this task could have been expected; but, the mention of his son was making her hot and cold and sweaty.

"The son he is so proud of has disappeared!" another person shouted from the back. Lucius Malfoy turned into an ugly shade of grey.

"Are you sure your worthless, pureblood son is not lying somewhere in Knockturn Alley?"

"Where are you, Draco?" Lucius Malfoy thought sadly.

"Silence please," urged Kingsley. "I'm afraid I have to interrupt you, Lucius. Mr. Ladon must be very well travelled and questions relating to types of blood must be irrelevant, if not preposterous, to him. You can regain your seat, Lucius, thank you for your input," the minister dismissed a scowling Lucius Malfoy.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as she left the Conference Hall. She could hear the Minister for Magic continue allocating specific tasks to other witches and wizards. She had felt sorry for Lucius Malfoy back there even if the man had been voicing out his disapproval of her being assigned this task. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had been looking for their son for years now, but they had so far been unsuccessful. Hermione recalled an article that had appeared in the Daily Prophet soon after Voldemort had been defeated. The article had expounded at length over how Lucius Malfoy was spotted scouting the length of Knockturn Alley, desperately inquiring about the whereabouts of his son and being fleeced out of thousands of Galleons by those who falsely claimed to know where Draco Malfoy was. Why didn't Draco Malfoy contact his own parents?


End file.
